Need Another Try
by HM Grayson
Summary: Gillian MacArthur was just your average witch with a lousy childhood and a reflexive hatred of all things Nast. Not that it stops Savannah Levine from dragging her into the midst of a supernatural disaster that will scare even the great Nast Cabal...
1. Prologue

To quote Kelley Armstrong, this story "is intended for mature readers. If it was a movie, it'd have warnings for coarse language, sexual content, violence...and maybe a few more." You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Depending on the country, the rights to these books are owned by a whole slew of different publishers that I'm too lazy to name. Needless to say, they don't belong to me. I'm not Kelley Armstrong, otherwise this story would be on her website and a whole lot better.

Spoilers: This story was written after _Personal Demon_ and contains information from all of Kelley Armstrong's work up to that point.

Author's Notes: The title is from a song by Dragonette, _Jesus Doesn't Love Me Anymore._ Savannah is going to play a hugely important role in this story, but it is Gillian MacArthur (who appears briefly at the end of _Industrial Magic_) that is going to be the main character.

...

Prologue

...

There was a full moon out that night. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it wasn't. But there was a full moon out and that's why it was easy for the two girls to slip out of the house without knocking into anything and alerting the adults around them.

A more unlikely pair was possible to imagine, but unlikely to exist. They shared only a few similarities, but they were the most powerful kind, binding them together in ways they would only later comprehend.

They were both witches.

And they were both currently trooping through a graveyard.

The backpacks they carried were filled with strong smelling herbs, sacrificial knives, unscented candles and a box full of plastic baggies. They were practical witches, even when they were being reckless. They had to move quickly—they couldn't afford to get caught.

"Slow down, Savannah," one hissed. "Not all of us have stilts for legs."

"I'm sorry I'm not a midget," the one called Savannah laughed in the darkness. "Don't you dare start being scared of the dark."

"I'm not scared." If it was a lie it was a convincing one, but Savannah knew better than to take her friend at her word. "I just don't think it's right to be running through a graveyard. There's got to be something wrong with that."

"You worry too much, Gillian."

"You don't worry."

The many superficial difference between Savannah Levine and Gillian MacArthur made it easier to ignore the important ones.

No one would ever confuse them for sisters and that suited them just fine because they weren't. Gillian had a bad experience once and it had put her off the whole concept. While Savannah could have gotten her way if she really wanted to, she just didn't care enough to force the issue. They simply believed themselves to be too diametrically opposed for their relationship to be particularily close.

Savannah knew every offensive spells she could get her hands on; Gillian could say the defensive ones in her sleep. Necessity had also taught her healing magic—she didn't want Savannah worrying Paige. Savannah picked up healing magic but was less concerned about her own safety. Savannah didn't need anyone or anything. Gillian needed and needed until she was left all alone. And perhaps more importantly—the reason these girls grew up to be so very different—the people who loved Savannah would swim across oceans for her and the people who loved Gillian ended up drowning themselves.

The result of another discrepancy—the disparity in spellcasting ability—was the cause of their midnight adventure. Graveyards scared them less than they would most people, but they were witches, not freaks, and wouldn't have been there if there wasn't a very good reason.

"We're here," Savannah announced. "I think."

"Now you start thinking? Great."

"Shut up. I haven't been here in years and it was dark back then."

The flashlight they had yet to turn on was finally beamed over the gravestone. Gillian couldn't make out the name, but Savannah seemed satisfied. "This is it."

That was all the reassurance Gillian needed. The backpack was dropped to the ground and out came the plastic baggies. Savannah stood watch as Gillian took a handful of dirt from the grave of a murdered woman, mimicking actions Paige had performed a few years previously.

"What's taking so long? God, are you taking two bags?"

"I don't know how much we're going to need and I don't want to have to come back here."

"You're just as bad as Paige."

Gillian didn't protest though Paige would have never been in her position. Paige was in the house of Abigail Alden either asleep or doing things with Lucas Cortez that Gillian didn't want to think about. Hopefully, Paige didn't know, and would never know, what her ward and her friend were up to. She would have approved of the principle and been horrified by the practice. It was in Paige's best interest not to know what was going on in the graveyard.

Mission accomplished, the teens slipped off. They moved quickly for there was always a chance that they would be missed. Still, they had had to risk it. Who knew the next time one of the Coven Elders would so obligingly drop dead, summoning Paige across the country in a flurry of guilt? And Gillian was only with Savannah because her father had been ordered out of the country and Paige felt bad about it, being married to the man who was heir to the company that had done the ordering. Also—because Paige Winterbourne deserved a lot of credit, but even she had some ignoble thoughts—she had hoped that having a witch her own age around might make Savannah less inclined to insult her elders. In that respect it had worked. Savannah had made only three derisive comments about Coven witches (that Paige knew of) and only when the remaining two elders were out of earshot.

Savannah had always despised the Coven and Theresa Moss's death did nothing to change that fact. At one point, she had even disliked Paige for being associated with the cowering, worthless witches. Gillian may have been much less naturally powerful, but she was far from useless. Coming back to East Falls just reminded Savannah how little she could tolerate most of her race, the pathetic excuses for witches that were too afraid of rocking the boat to use the magic they had been born with. They violated the fundament rules of her existence, and Savannah couldn't accept what she could not understand.

Gillian liked the Coven witches, with their middle class houses and antique teacups. She liked their manners and their neighborhood watch groups and the way their voices never rose in anger. This she kept to herself, knowing Savannah wouldn't like it, would consider it a gross betrayal, and perhaps because she realized she couldn't live like that either. Not by blood or by experience...still the longing was there, nose pressed against cold glass, wishing for the Christmas toys displayed inside.

At that particular moment in time, the only thing Gillian wanted was a jacket. It was cold that night—Savannah had said they would be fine in what they had been wearing and now Gillian was chattering. Savannah rolled her eyes and shrugged out of her sweater. The noise was annoying.

"Thanks," Gillian muttered, slipping into the still warm clothing. "Is it much further?"

Savannah shrugged, not sure herself, but sensing the dense presence of _something_ up ahead and figuring it was trees. She was right.

The girls began the hunt for the perfect spot. With the trees blocking out the light it became a problem that they only had one flashlight between them. The search was accompanied by curses, stumbling and the occasional bruise when an invisible branch attacked unsuspecting prey. Eventually, as Savannah complained about the tear in her pants, they stumbled across their destination. It wasn't a specific location, just the first circular clearing surrounded by trees they had found. The flashlight shone around the clearing, illuminating the empty space. Both witches locked eyes and set to work; Savannah cast a perimeter spell around the area as Gillian set up the materials.

Cloth and candles first. Power and wisdom, but reversed—blue to the north, purple to the south, the opposite way the candles should have been laid if they were doing the spell the way they had been taught.

The elements next. Air, earth, water and fire. Athame, dirt, bottles of Evian and matches. Gillian arranged them backwards, going through Paige's old notes and reversing everything she could think of. It seemed to her the most logical choice.

They were going to try to do something no one had ever attempted, not because they were especially powerful but because they just didn't consider it wouldn't work. Paige had taught them witches could be strong in their own right. The next logical step for girls who had been told there were no limits to how powerful they could be was to see how far that power could extend. If you could rediscover old spells, why couldn't you create your own? It was inconceivable, impossible—and they were going to try. Even if they had to ride in sketchy taxis in East Falls where everyone knew everyone else's business, especially the business of strangers, they were going to see if they could do this. Savannah was powerful, Gillian was not—they were going to try to even the odds a little bit.

They had gotten part of the spell from a grimoire Savannah had 'borrowed' from a dark witch. The actual spell was supposed to be a temporary boost of power. The other person had to willingly say the spell, but even then it was just a quick fix. That didn't appeal to them, not when Gillian lived in another state. So they had cut and paste, sewing together a Frankenstein monster of a spell, whose power remained unknown.

"Finished," Savannah said, plopping down right beside Gillian. "Clearing secure."

"Materials prepared," Gillian confirmed. "Anything you want to go over?"

She had a notebook full of the spells they were using as well as the phonetic breakdown underneath.

"I remember. You?"

"I'm good. Should we start?"

Even Savannah Levine hesitated, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Paige whispering in her ear, warning her this might be too dangerous, that there were too many unknown variables. There was always the possibility that—as Gillian put it—magic was static. The only way Gillian could become more powerful would be to take from Savannah. Gillian had promised simply to perform the spell on Savannah if that turned out to be the case, hopefully reversing the negative effects. But it was a risk, a major one...one Savannah would never be able to live with. But no sooner had the thought come, than it had been dismissed.

"Let's do this thing."

They sat across from each other, Savannah in the center, Gillian on the other side, watching carefully. Savannah started the first part of the ritual, speaking words she didn't always understand but trusted Gillian had translated right anyway. For her part, Gillian waited calmly, sure that Savannah would succeed, simply because Savannah always did.

Maybe that was why it happened. Not the rituals or the old words, or even the ancient elements and the power they contained. Maybe it was just because as Gillian began to mimic Savannah's movements the old magic felt their simple belief.

Or maybe they really were just that lucky or that talented. Whatever the reason, when they simultaneously placed their hands on the candles—Savannah on blue, Gillian on purple—the ground started shaking. The wind picked up and when they reached their hands together, blood against blood, there was a flash of blinding light and they were torn apart with more force than they thought possible.

"Did it work?" Savannah asked once she caught her breath. There was no answer. She looked up to see Gillian on the other side of the clearing, slumped against the base of a tree. Unusual but overwhelming panic descended, but Savannah didn't waste time assessing her fear, just hurried across to make sure her friend was alright. It was easy enough to find a pulse and Savannah relaxed—somewhat—and began looking for an obvious sign of head trauma.

"Hey Gillian! Gillian. Wake up. Come on, this is really annoying."

Eventually Gillian began to stir and then she snapped to consciousness, hissing in pain. Gingerly she prodded her left shoulder, flinching as white light flashed behind her eye, the pain blocking out everything else.

"I can't be hurt. I have a meet in two week," she whispered.

Savannah didn't try and reassure her, just helped Gillian struggle out of the sweater. The flashlight revealed the strange shape that used to be her shoulder.

"I don't think it's broken," Savannah said uneasily.

Gillian's eyes filled with tears. "I cannot miss that meet. My coach is going to kill me."

Savannah muttered something under her breath and then, in a louder voice, said something in Hebrew. The pain diminished somewhat as the shoulder iced over slightly, but Gillian was too upset to care.

"You broke my arm."

"Technically, the tree broke your arm. Anyway, it's just gymnastics. You can summersault without your shoulder."

"I am not dignifying that with a response. Bitch. How are we going to fix this? I'm not losing mobility. I need help."

Savannah ignored Gillian's tiny outburst in favor of admitting, "We need to go to Paige."

"We can tell her we were practicing in the backyard and I got in a lucky shot and you got pissed and hit me with a knockback spell. Then I hit a tree."

"Like you could ever hit me," Savannah snorted, gathering up their tools as Gillian struggled to stand.

"I know. That's why you were so surprised you reacted on instinct. And I ended up broken."

"It could work."

The girls started heading back to the road. The taxi was supposed to meet them a few blocks over, so no one would realize they had been in the graveyard.

Savannah could no longer anchor her curiosity with concern. "Did it work? I don't feel any different, which is good. But what about you?"

Gillian wavered on her feet but dutifully closed her eyes and did a mental check of her spellcasting ability. It would be greatly lowered by the calming spells she had been casting under her breath, trying not to disturb Savannah, and spellcasting power wasn't like a gas gauge. Nothing so clear.

"I don't know. We're going to have to wait."

That wasn't the sort of plan Savannah was good at. As the two girls began heading back, the bag now on Savannah's shoulder, she pointed out cheerfully: "We can always try again tomorrow."

"Paige will keep an eye on us tomorrow." Gillian knew a lot more than Savannah about sneaking out of the house. She had a good teacher. "And then my dad might come back."

"Sound excited, why don't you." Savannah was an orphan in the technical sense and she resented when Gillian complained about her parents. Gillian was an orphan in the non-technical sense and resented Savannah's resentment, because Paige and Lucas were the best guardians ever.

"He's just going to leave again," Gillian said. If she hated the fact, she didn't let it show. "This is the fourth time in four months he's left the country—Iraq is doing wonders for business. He won't be around for a while."

"Lucas could order him to stay home." Officially, he couldn't, but in the messed up world they lived in, they might be able to swing it. Savannah didn't comment on Gillian's complete acceptance of her father's seasonal abandonment. It was still healthier than the absolute silence that Gillian enforced around her mother. Savannah didn't need magic powers to know that was toxic.

"He shouldn't have to be ordered to stay. Not that—he's just doing his job. Could you cast the spell again?"

Savannah noticed that Gillian's face was a sickly grey color under her tan. At least they were getting in the taxi and Savannah wouldn't have to worry if Gillian collapsed. Ignoring the creepy taxi driver who stared for far too long considering his clients were sixteen, Savannah reminded herself not to get too anxious. Gillian was tougher than she looked; somehow the girl always landed on her feet.

Not that creepy taxi driver or anyone else would have thought it. Gillian looked so quintessentially all-American that it made Savannah want to puke sometimes, with her long golden hair, bronzed skin and the tiniest hint of a Southern twang whenever she forgot to repress it. An attacker would assume Gillian was the easier target. Just a hair under five feet, she was thin as well and looked like an open invitation to most would-be predators. Appearances were deceiving. Gillian may have been just over a hundred pounds, but it was solid muscle—the gift of a decade's worth of training. And Savannah knew for a fact that Gillian always fought dirty.

That was something they had in common, even if physically they couldn't have been more dissimilar. Savannah was a basketball player, well on her way to six feet and couldn't help towering over her friend. But where Gillian tended to act in self-defense, Savannah couldn't help but bring a competitive edge to everything she did. She had long dark hair and blue eyes that sparkled whenever she thought of something darkly humorous. She looked exotic (which she wasn't) and dangerous (which she was).

Even though she probably wouldn't have admitted it, she was also kind to those she deemed worthy. So she started talking to distract Gillian.

"Did I tell you Sean said he'd take me to the Dominican this summer? He's going with a bunch of friends so they rented this big villa. A few of them dropped out so they had extra beds. He invited me and said I could even bring some friends." Savannah quickly added, "I would have asked you, but I figured you would be working."

Savannah hadn't even thought of asking Gillian. The other witch couldn't afford it and wouldn't have gone with Nasts anyway. She was stubborn about some things.

"Oh, the joys of minimum wage. Does this mean you're going with a bunch of thirty year old guys? Skeezy."

"Twenties," Savannah said with some satisfaction. "And some of them are almost my age. They're friends with the evil half-brother."

"When did you start not liking Sean?"

"There's the good half-brother and the evil half-brother," Savannah explained, like it was obvious. "The evil half-brother, sometimes known as Bryce, can't come anymore, but his hot twenty-something friends still can."

Gillian couldn't remember Savannah ever talking about more than one brother, though she knew there were two Nast boys. She was a Cabal brat—she knew all about the Nasts.

"I'm guessing we don't like the evil half-brother much."

"Fuck no. He never talks to me. But I don't care. He's fucking boring. All he does is bitch about what's wrong in his life, or talk about music, or make fun of Sean. He thinks he's funny but he's really not. And he called me horse face girl. I do not look like my friend Flicka. Jerk."

"And you know all this by _not_ talking to him?"

"Sometimes he's in the background when Sean calls. Whatever. I don't want to talk about Bryce. I want to talk about his hot friends."

"Who, coincidently, are going to be traveling with your older brother. Who knows you're just sixteen," Gillian pointed out. If she said sixteen a little louder than she should have, Savannah only winked when the driver finally started respecting their privacy.

"Shut up."

"It might actually have been better for you if it have been the evil-half brother who was with you. He wouldn't have cared enough to stop you." Gillian knew a lot more about people not caring enough to stop, so Savannah just grunted and performed the spell again.

The taxi pulled onto the street and Savannah swore. As they paid the driver, it was impossible not to notice the lights of Alden house were brightly lit. Someone was looking for them.

"You can do the talking," Savannah muttered.

Their pace slowed considerably, neither eager to face their punishment. Time would not slow down, even for them, and eventually they reached the door. Almost as if on cue, they sighed as one and then Savannah pushed open the door.

Paige was on the phone in the living room, off to the left of the entrance, but hung up when she saw the girls walk through the door. Her curly hair was sticking out every which way and her ordinarily cute round face was drawn. It was such a difference from normal that Savannah demanded, "What's wrong?"

"Savannah, I need you to go upstairs and call Lucas and tell him you're back."

"I'm not leaving," Savannah declared. "You have to yell at us together."

Neither really expected Paige to actually yell. She looked too rattled. But Gillian would take a beating lying down and Savannah wasn't about to let that happen.

"I need to speak to Gillian privately," Paige said. "Savannah, go upstairs."

"There's nothing you can say to me that she can't hear." It was a lie, of course, because there were things Savannah would have no choice but to pity and Gillian didn't want that. But at the moment it felt true, so Gillian said it.

"Gillian," Paige stumbled. But the two girls stood there defiantly and she gave in. "Sit down then."

It was when they were sitting on the couch that she told Gillian her father had disappeared yesterday, half a world away from his only living family.

In the longer run it mattered much less and much more than Paige ever thought it would. Randy MacArthur was found in less than a week and though his body was crippled and his spirit broken, he was alive for the beautiful father/daughter reunion when he was finally returned to North America. It should have been enough. It wasn't.

But that came later.

At the moment, Gillian just stared, trying to comprehend. Savannah placed a hand on the small of her back, one orphan to another and Gillian understood and the tears began to form.

"I'm very sorry," Paige repeated.

Savannah realized what she meant to do an instant too late. Her cry went unheeded as Paige wrapped her arms around Gillian. The tiny girl would have screamed, but even that was beyond her as the nerve endings in her shoulder caught fire. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed backwards, blissfully unaware, if only for a time, of the world around her.

...


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own it, would like to, know it's not going to happen.

Author's note: Four years later...

…

Chapter 1

…

The bed used to be Savannah's, but she sold it to me for twenty bucks back in the fall. It was both lumpy and hard and when I rolled onto my side a spring would invariably poke through and attack my hip. One morning I had woken up with a scratch running the full length of my thigh. But twenty bucks was twenty bucks, and despite all its flaws, I was eager to get back to it. Desperate, in fact.

I hadn't slept at all the night before. After stumbling in late Friday night, I hadn't been able to fall asleep. It was a process that usually took me a while, but last night had been much worse than usual. There wasn't much to do at that time of morning, especially since the walls in my humble college housing were paper thin. I had considered going for a run, but that would have just made me a walking advertisement for a mugging or worse. I had tried reading my Latin texts—I liked Latin, really, but I wasn't that much of a nerd that I liked it at four in the morning. Even that hadn't helped.

But I managed to amuse myself until five somehow without losing my mind, which was a relative statement if I ever heard one. At five I said screw it and went for a run anyway. Then I went to the pool, the gym...anything I could think of to try and force my body to collapse from exhaustion. It was the first Saturday before Spring Break. UCLA was a ghost town and since I had nowhere else to be, I had plenty of time to recuperate.

Even working out like Gene Simmons on speed did little to knock me out. I was too used to punishing workouts. I had been a gymnast at the university for the past three years...up until four months ago, when I had fallen off the bars and landed wrong and completely tore my ankle to hell. Bye-bye scholarship, hello blood money and overwhelming depression.

I could have fought harder, pushed myself further and tried to get back on the team. But I stayed away because gymnastics was beginning to bore me—and because you get disqualified if they find heroin in your system. Better to avoid getting tested altogether. So even though my ankle was doing all right (thank you magical healing), I didn't plan on going back any time soon.

If having your life going to hell was an Olympic Sport, I would have been Jesse Owens. Gold medals in anything you could think of. Dead parents? Check. No future? Check. Humiliating past? Check. Lousy attitude? Check and double check. At least I wasn't delusional. There was nothing worse than a failure who didn't realize it.

"Gillian. Gillian! Hey MacArthur, slow down."

I turned around, plastering a smile on my face. Debbie was a sweet girl and I did like her. But we were both fresh from the gym and she had never been injured in her life. I took a little more pleasure than I should have in realizing I was still ten pounds lighter than she was—I wanted to tell her it proved anorexia didn't work, but didn't think her starved heart could survive the shock.

Trying to snap myself out of bitch mode, I beamed. "How are you? You look great. You know, except for the copious amounts of sweat and grime. You're hair looks so cute."

"You think? I thought going darker might make my face look stumpy."

"It makes you look older."

Debbie beamed as I paid her the ultimate compliment. When the team used to go out, inevitably all of us got carded. I still sometimes got the kids menu at restaurants. Though ever since I had stopped training, my breasts had started to come back.

"Thanks. I hope my mom likes it. She loved my hair before."

I hated when people talked about their parents. It was an unnecessary thing to add to the conversation. What did your genetic donors have to do with anything? But I kept my smile firmly in place. I should have been a beauty queen. "You're going home today?"

"Yeah, my train leaves at three. I can't wait to get back." Her and the rest of the university. It was times like this when I wished I had a home. Debbie saw my face fall and it finally got through her thick skull that I didn't quite share everyone else's Spring Break enthusiasm. "I thought you were going with Hilary and Victor on some sort of cruise?"

"Victor had to go home. His dad's sick." I hated how even the words made me tremble. My dad would have made me come home for the holidays. It was the only time we ever saw each other and now that he was gone it hurt that much worse because the holidays were the only times I had to remember he wasn't here anymore. "Without Victor...we just couldn't."

I also couldn't afford it if Victor couldn't chip in. Not that Victor and I...he had been crushing on Hilary forever. But Victor wasn't stingy with his money. And since I had none to speak of that wasn't going to my tuition, it made hanging out with him that much sweeter.

"That sucks," was Debbie's brilliant summation of the situation. I agreed, I wished her the best for her trip home and got out of there as fast as I could. I was in such a mood—lack of sleep made me insufferable. Not that Debbie had noticed. I liked having friends to much to do anything other than keep it to myself.

There was only one person who I could stand to see me when I couldn't stop being a bitch. I tried calling Savannah, so she could tell me off properly or at least let me vent aloud, but she didn't pick up. She was probably still asleep, like I longed to be. Last night she had been planning to get Paige a birthday present. Knowing Savannah Levine, that didn't mean she had gone shopping. She had probably gotten into some sort of fight but had miraculously come up with the perfect rare grimoire for Paige.

If she wasn't going to pick up, I was going to leave a message.

"Get out of bed and get to work or she'll know something is up," I began. She would know it was me. "Remember, you're only allowed to call me for life threatening injuries. If I don't pick up today it's because I'm taking a nap, but leave a message. I want to get together this weekend—I've got this new spell that I think you'd be totally awesome at. Exploding eyeballs, right up your alley. Call me back."

I liked Savannah, most of the time anyway, but she wasn't the person I really wanted to call when I felt the beginnings of a bad day. The person I really wanted to call was on the other side of the country and buried under six feet of earth. Dana would have made everything better—Savannah just ordered me to pretend it was. Don't get me wrong, I needed that. But it would be nice to have things feel right every so often.

When I finally got home, I almost froze to death; my housemates must have turned off the heat in order to save money on this month's utilities bill. University housing (and the budget restraints of a university student) sucked. It was like prison, without the guaranteed meals and more mould. As I walked through the door, I tried to ignore any and all wildlife that shared the house with me.

With Spring Break beginning next week, almost all of my housemate had already cleared out. Tia was the only one downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a tall glass of orange juice and folding the newspaper into squares. Good. Tia would leave me to myself. She meant well, but she wasn't the brightest, taking an extra year to settle on classical history. Her preference for Coolers over Corinthians meant she might need yet another year after that.

"Hey." She pushed the newspaper away from her with a smile. "I didn't hear you get up this morning. You must have been really early."

"I couldn't sleep. I'm glad I didn't wake you. Everyone else cleared out?"

"Vicky left this morning with Maddie and Sandra, so we're the only ones left. You should have seen the van—I don't know how they fit all that stuff in. You want something to eat?"

"Sure."

"I bought donuts, if you want." Tia watched carefully as I went to help myself. "You doing something tonight?"

I ripped a tiny piece of the donut off and rolled it around in between my fingers. "Why? You have something in mind?"

"A friend of Kevin's has this uncle or something who owns this club and he invited us—if I bring a friend. You interested? It's supposed to be exclusive and we wouldn't have to pay cover."

"Sounds good."

"Excellent." Her eyes narrowed. "Gillian, you're supposed to swallow you know."

Tia glared until I shoveled the donut in, chewed and swallowed. Only then did she turn away. No, it wasn't that she had a strange carbohydrate fetish. My whole house was convinced I had some kind of eating disorder and the purchasing of high fat food was their way of helping. It could have been because I looked like I would lose a fight against a Smurf. Or because that's what I had told them.

I didn't like lying to them—they were nice girls, for the most part. But sometimes only a lie works. People expected there to be something wrong with me. I don't know why, but it's been that way most of my life. There are some people I can't afford to disappoint, so I go to over-priced therapy every Sunday just to keep things steady. I didn't want to have to explain this to my housemates. Luckily, the sad story of my struggle against vegetables won me a little privacy.

I told them I had been treated for anorexia so they would feel pleased when they saw me eat. Not that I did it very often. Not that I was sick, just food was usually last on my list of priorities. You couldn't eat and keep yourself distracted. Anorexia bought me time in the bathroom without anyone huddled at the door, listening for sounds of retching.

The truth was I lacked the self-control that anorexia required. Bulimia would have been my disease of choice, if I cared enough about myself to try and look good. Hurling acid and spit back at the world as tears squeezed from my eyes and mucus poured from nose, mixing in an unholy blend of hate was almost what I already did. The ugliness inside now on display for the whole world to gawk at. I knew a little bit about that. Denying myself something I craved? That I knew I couldn't do.

The food finally swallowed I said, "When do you want to go?"

"Twelve? Is that all right?"

"It's a date," I promised and quickly left the room. I didn't mean to be rude, but I was exhausted. My housemates were sweet girls, much nicer than I deserved. That was most of the problem. They possessed qualities I didn't: Money. Family. Hope. Restraint. All that and something worse.

They were human.

I wasn't like some of the others. Having grown up with almost no awareness of my supernatural abilities (thanks, Mom!) I tended to be less discriminating that those supernaturals who had been brought up knowing they were just a little bit better than the rest. The girls I lived with didn't even know you could be anything other than human and therein lay the problem. My realm of experience was completely detached from theirs. They didn't know the kind of power I had, but more importantly, they could never know. I couldn't tell them and so I could never give them reason to trust me. However much I might want to cross the abyss, it simply wasn't possible. So I kept my distance.

I headed to the washroom, to get some of the grime off of me. It was empty, a rare occurrence in a house full of eight girls. The magic of Spring Break. I kicked the door shut behind me. I would have locked it but Gina's asshole boyfriend had broken it one day and she refused to pay to fix it. We could have tried to force her, but it wasn't like she had the money to begin with, so we made do with a closed door policy. With the door shut, the room resembled a small cardboard box, everything crowded together to fit into the insignificant space. The toilet seat had been pulled down and I sat on top of it, the cool plastic shocking the sensitive skin on the back of my thighs, running shorts have ridden up. I leaned my head forward and let it rest in my hands for just a second. My long blonde hair sheltered my from the world for a moment. One glorious moment.

Standing up was tedious, but not the chore it had once been, so I did it, even though it was unnecessary in the tiny space. The mirror still had fog over it from the last occupant who had probably used up the last of the hot water. That was usually what happened.

Gazing at the mirror I was struck by how long it had been since I had been pretty. The face that watched me in the mirror with dead eyes wasn't one I could look at for very long. The sweat didn't help matters either.

The water was lukewarm, better than I hoped for. I kept the shower short. It didn't take much for me to stumble to my tupperware-sized room and fall asleep.

...

I woke up and read for a few hours, before I started to get ready. In Greek. I was sort of loser in that respect. University was my gateway to the past—I was studying every remotely dead language (and a few living ones) that UCLA offered. It made me feel closer to the heritage my mother had denied me. I was also sort of good at it too and I tended to cling to the few things I could do well.

At nine I started to get ready and was ready ten to twelve, though I could still hear Tia fussing around in her room. I sat at the kitchen table—that technically only fit two people, though we had been known to cram as many as ten in—and began tearing the newspaper into tiny pieces. No one in the house actually read the thing, they just vandalized it in the way they felt was best.

The material of my slinky blue dress felt loose against my skin. Still underweight. How many donuts did I have to cram down my throat? Blonde hair tickle against my bare shoulder. I had left it down, which meant it was going to get sweaty and greasy by the end of the night, but Dana always said it looked good down. On my feet were Maddie's four each heels, the only way I could look someone in the eye. I was five feet on a good day and had always found heels invaluable. I looked good enough, tonight.

Tia came down in a white tube dress that she looked gorgeous in. She always looked gorgeous. We traded compliments as I checked my cell again. Savannah still hadn't called back. Bitch.

"Lead the way," I said.

"You okay? You seem...nervous. I swear, Kevin's friends are really nice."

"It's nothing," I shrugged. "So, are they picking us up?"

Tia still looked worried, but apparently the guys were on time, because I could hear the engine pulling into the driveway. I stood up quickly, before Tia could say anything. What Savannah did in her spare time was none of my business.

"Let's go," I said, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the house. Tia locked up behind us, as I bounced on the porch beside her, letting the excitement fill me. Savannah was a big girl. She didn't need to call me to gloat after every successful adventure. And just because the promise of a spell hadn't gotten her to call didn't mean anything. She could have been busy.

Kevin was driving. His friends were in the back, two of them and one of me, but I didn't mind. I climbed into the back, falling carelessly into the lap of the one with the beard. The black one was hotter, but beard-guy was closer. I apologized and settled in between them, but I let beard-guy feel me up as he helped push me off him.

"Guys," Tia announced, once she had stopped kissing Kevin hello. "This is Gillian MacArthur."

She introduced me to Ryan and Calvin, but I didn't pay attention to who was who. It didn't really matter; I was having fun tonight and I didn't care which one of them provided it. It was a friend of Ryan's cousin who owned the club. I never bothered to learn its name. Ryan and Calvin seemed nice, so I talked to them.

The time flew by so quickly I almost thought I had taken something and forgotten about it. We were passed the long line outside before I knew it. It wasn't as dark as I had expected, or liked, but there was a dance floor and a bar and music loud enough to drive all thoughts from your head. Better than drugs, the music pulled you right out of yourself. It was perfect.

"Dance with me," I asked, grabbing both Ryan and Calvin. They both came. I hadn't expected them too, but I didn't complain. The pounding beat drove the last of my thoughts out of my head and I was beginning to feel lighter, like I might float away if I didn't have someone (or some ones) around to anchor me.

I would worry about Savannah another night.

...

Sometime later Ryan turned to me and asked, "You wanna take a break?"

I was a sweaty mess, but I was having fun. Calvin had drifted off and while I would have preferred to have him there, it wasn't a big loss.

It was definitely Ryan's uncle who owned the place because we easily managed to find a place to sit despite the crowd. His hand was on my waist and I let it stay there because I was here to have fun. As the drinks came, I pretended to listen. The things I had to do before the screwing could commence. Fortunately, I was good at pretending to listen and after a few drinks it wouldn't have mattered if I was good or not. Ryan was too out of it to care.

Lightweight.

I glanced around the room, making sure my choice was a decent one. That's when I made eye contact with a man sitting in the corner.

He wasn't anything special. Actually, he was an older man, strands of white decorating his dark hair as he looked down at me. He was much too old to belong in a place like this. But that's not what attracted my attention. He was a sorcerer. Which meant the expression on his face was clearly condescension.

The stories of witches and sorcerers were ones I was well acquainted with, even before I was aware I had any powers as a witch. Mom always did like something to complain about. Witches were always women and sorcerers were always men. Once upon a time the witches had been more powerful, but stupider, and had shared their powers with their counterparts. Different spell types had evolved, but for the most part everyone was happy that we could now do magic all together. Good times for everybody.

Then it got ugly.

The Inquisition happened and the sorcerers turned on the witches, handing over their former teachers in return for safety and power. The witches never forgave the attempted extermination—the sorcerers never forgot that witches were powerless to stop it. Witches hadn't been able to fight back and to this day sorcerers thought they were pathetic.

Truth? We kind of were. Or had been. There were some changes happening, threatening the balance. Some of us were getting powerful, Savannah extremely so, without having to turn to the sorcerers as had happened before. A witch—Paige Winterbourne, my teacher—had found more powerful spells and she was slowly trying to share them with the rest of us. It was slow going and we weren't taken very seriously, but one day we would be able to do something to change the supernatural community's expectations of us. Not that this sorcerer would have any ideas about any of this. Sorcerers weren't known for understanding subtleties. Or brainpower of any kind.

Still, seeing him sitting across from me reminded me who I was. Gillian MacArthur, not so powerful witch, who screwed up on an almost weekly basis. But Savannah always called me back. Always. Especially after a night of almost getting killed—which was just a normal Friday for her.

I had to find her. Which meant I had to get out of there.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I can't do this. I haven't been very honest with you, Ryan. I'm really sorry but I have a boyfriend. And I just realized I cannot do this to him."

He appeared startled but my declaration didn't have its intended effect. "We're just hanging out."

Time to apply a little bit more pressure. "I know. But he gets really jealous sometimes. That's why we're sort of on a break. Last time he put an axe through some guy's car. But he can't help it. It's just because he loves me. I mean..."

I babbled on a little more, but I didn't need too. Ryan had gotten the message. I wasn't worth that sort of trouble.

"If you see Tia, tell her I've got to go," I begged him and he nodded. "It was nice meeting you."

I slipped inside the washroom and called a cab. All I had to do now was find Tia and then head over to Savannah's L.A. base to see if I could pick up any clues about where she was.

Hurrying out of the washroom as quickly as I could without attracting attention, I ignored the hazy sort of room with the heat and the music that I loved rather desperately. Having fun could wait.

I spotted Ryan through the crowd. He was in the same booth as before and if I didn't know better I would say he was still with me. The blonde girl who was currently with him may have had my hair, and my little orphan Annie physique, but her dress was a slightly different color. I had to work at not being pissed. I hated just being someone's type.

I cast one last look back at Ryan, in the hopes of catching glimpse of the sorcerer. He might have hated me, but he had reminded me that while I could play human better than anyone, that wasn't who I really was. As I was looking for the sorcerer, I spotted the other man. Not so much because I found him attractive, but because he seemed so obviously so. A mid-sized powerfully built man with the faintest touches of a beard and the most luxurious head of hair I had ever seen. The sort of hair that looks Photo-Shopped and airbrushed. Handsome in a Ken doll way. And he was heading for Ryan.

Maybe this blonde actually had a boyfriend. Poor boy.

It was only because he seemed so perfect looking that I kept my gaze on him. It was for that reason that I saw exactly why Ryan started screaming.

Ken bypassed the woman's outstretched hand and stuck his hand straight into her chest.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own it, would like to, know it's not going to happen.

Author's note: We get to the violence. I wonder if Savannah's going to show up?

…

Chapter 2

…

I stood there. I wasn't proud of it, but that's what I did as my brain pushed past its terror to process what I was seeing.

Ryan was screaming, people were staring and Ken smiled. The sick look broke my stupor and I hurried away with the crowd. Ken didn't notice the way people began pushing each other to get away from him, too intent on his victim. He squeezed, veins pulsing in his arm. Everyone in the room who could see was backing away from the horrible sight. Blood was dripping down her still twitching body, pooling onto the floor. I leaned against the wall for support, slowly sliding down it. Curling into the tightest ball I could, I muttered a hiding spell.

Ken dropped her corpse to the floor unceremoniously. My eyes were rooted to the tableau in front of me, the supernatural towering over the dead girl, holding a heart that looked miniscule in gigantic hands. People around me were shouting but that didn't seem to matter right then.

I was shaking. My dulled senses were being flooded with the scent of blood and it made my insides quake. Her dead eyes stared at position in the corner. In my panic I couldn't help but be riveted by the resemblance. Long blonde hair, dead brown eyes, even a blue dress...but at least my eyes were moving. As long as the rest of me didn't move that _thing_ couldn't find me.

Ken was examining the heart in his hand, clearly displeased with what he saw. Throwing it down to the floor carelessly, he began searching the room for someone else. I watched as the crowd got thinner as people moved to the exits. He had missed his chance.

Or maybe not. In the dark room, even as I huddled under a hiding spell, his eyes found me. With another grin—devoid of pleasure, devoid of mercy—he began stalking forward.

That was impossible, but I wasn't about to argue about it. Hurrying from my spot on the floor I raced to join the crowd. Pushing people out of my way, I couldn't help hearing fresh screams as Ken began to struggle through the crowd to get to me. Someone to my right began to sob as the crowd around the exit became too thick for us to push through. There was someone underfoot and I reached down to help them up, only to be trampled by someone behind me.

I made the mistake of looking back, to see what had become of Ken. The sound a neck makes when it snaps is terrifying in its utter ordinariness. Like cracking your knuckles, only a little louder, surer. But at the end there's a limp rag doll that's impossible to forget was once a person. He was demolishing whoever was in his way.

I spotted the sorcerer from earlier that night. He was mostly hidden by the crowd, but I saw his hands wave and the creature stumbled backwards. It recovered quickly and with a roar moved to rip the arms off the nearest person.

As the man screamed, something inside me finally snapped. I wasn't watching any more bloodshed. Struggling against the horde of bodies pressing on top of me, I began muttering a spell that Savannah had once taught me. It was too powerful for me—even failed attempts left me too weak to stand—but it might just work all the same.

There were different types of supernaturals and only a few that had super-strength. But the blatant disregard for human life, the enjoyment of suffering, the vacant eyes...that suggested demon to me. Even the most callous of supernaturals feared exposure. They had to live in this world, after all. The demons did not. Not that I'd ever been stupid enough to meet one—not even in my darkest moments had that seemed like a good idea.

The monster saw me, locking eyes. I continued to cast just as slowly. I didn't have the strength to recuperate from a miscast. The sorcerer watched us as Ken came towards me. I finished.

The anti-demon spell worked—Ken dropped to the floor, shaking in pain. The crowd around me continued to head to the exit. I pushed against them, keeping eye contact with the demon. I couldn't believe it; not only was I still standing, I had enough energy to fight the crowd.

The sorcerer appeared at my side, taking me by the arm. "Can you do that again?" he asked.

The demon was still moving. I couldn't believe it but it certainly felt like my spellcasting power could handle it. Carefully I cast. The demon's eyes bulged in pain and then closed. I found myself completely dependent on the sorcerer for support. That spell was too powerful; terrified for my life as I was, only adrenaline got me through it.

I tried not to look at the floor, which was covered in bodies and blood and organs that I wasn't even sure I recognized. The sorcerer helped me through the doors into the night air where most of the crowd was already dispersed. I could hear sirens in the distance—there were always sirens in L.A. but right then the sound made me shiver harder. The last thing I needed was to be called a witch on top of the night I had just had. I had to get out of there. There might be safety in public places, but not for me. Not for the man beside me either. He pulled me quickly away from the club.

The ground was uneven beneath my feet and if the sorcerer hadn't been with me I would have fallen a hundred times. I didn't even know where we were going, only that I was too tired to argue with whatever the sorcerer wanted.

He brought us to a parked car and quickly fished out his keys. He didn't invite me in, but now wasn't the time for invitations. I climbed into the front seat as we drove off into the night. The tears came then, for what I had just seen, for huddling in the corner like I was twelve, for being back _there_ and powerless to stop it. My shoulders shook as I fought for control. Air seemed to have deserted me and I gasped, reduced once again.

Eventually I calmed down enough to glance at my companion. He was pushing his car faster than I knew was possible, but I wasn't going to complain. He didn't say anything about my outburst, or even ask who I was.

"Demons usually mean Cabals. And they hate leaving witnesses. I'm heading out of town, you should too."

"Did you see if he worked for one?"

"Hard to see anything but the blood."

The lights streamed past the car. The beginning of a colossal headache was forming behind my eyes. I thought about what he had said. There was no doubt he was right. Hanging around to see what the problem was didn't seem like a good idea.

"Is there someplace I can drop you off?" he asked.

"The UCLA campus? Thanks."

"I didn't know that spell," he offered. His way of saying thank you. I'm sure he knew plenty more spells than I did but almost nothing worked on a demon, especially one that was powerful as the monster back there had been. Nothing in his countenance suggested he thought I had brought the demon down on us. And a sorcerer would have brought it up if he thought something was a witch's fault. Maybe I had just been paranoid when I thought he was coming straight after me...it wouldn't be the first time.

"It was pure, dumb luck it worked."

"Only to be expected of a witch."

Ass. Sorcerers were all like that—save their lives and they still thought you were useless.

He told me his name was Zachery. We didn't talk much beyond that. Seeing people die—while a good bonding experience—sort of killed the conversation. There was also the fact that despite the fact he was helping me, it was out of a sense of gratitude, not because he thought I was a person deserving of respect. A few of his comments made it quite clear, but I didn't push. He was helping me, and I didn't want to bother trying to change his mind.

Tia provided me with a suitable reason to ignore him. She texted me and I called her, pretending I hadn't been there moments before, that I had already left. She was glad to hear that, complaining that the police wanted to interview witnesses. I wished her luck and told her I was going to head out of town that night. A friend had provided me with something to do over Spring Break. Tia wasn't surprised by my sudden decision. I tended to get myself dragged off by the strangest of people. Tia just made me promise to have a good time.

I asked Zachery to stop eventually. It was still a twenty minute walk, but I couldn't stay in the confined space any longer. The car hadn't even stopped properly when I got out.

"Thank you."

The car sped off the second the door closed. I didn't look back.

The neighbourhood was familiar, but I had never been able to enjoy the student ghetto and tonight it just made me want to scream. Instead, I wrenched off the heels and began to run. It might not have been safe, what with the broken bottles that scattered some of the lawns, but I couldn't stay still. When in trouble, MacArthurs ran. I was all bone and deteriorating muscle, but somehow my legs could move pretty fast when I needed them too. I was home in five minutes; sweaty, exhausted, but home.

Whatever had sent that thing would be pissed that he was stopped. I didn't want to be around in case they decided to thank me for it in person. I was good at running and I was going to play to my strengths.

The lights stayed off as I raced into the house. The bathroom was my first destination. Up came the alcohol and the few scraps of bread I had eaten that day. Burning acid, up my nose, doing nothing to drown out the smell of blood that seemed to permeate everything. I allowed myself to sit on the bathroom floor for an instant, the cool porcelain against my cheek. Then my sense of self-preservation kicked in and I hauled myself to my feet.

I rinsed my mouth, blew my nose and got to work. The dress was up and on the floor in a second. A little bit of water and a lot of soap helped get most of the blood off of my skin. I rushed upstairs, groping for clothes in the dark until I found the jeans and sweater I had worn that afternoon. On they went.

I grabbed a small duffle bag from under the bed. It took less than a minute to be satisfied that I had snatched enough clothing. All you every really needed was jeans and a t-shirt. There was a photograph of Dana and my father on the dresser—I grabbed that and carefully stuck it into my pocket. Everything else, I left. It was pathetic how little it was. There probably wasn't an easier person to erase off the face of the earth.

I wondered if I should leave a note, say goodbye properly, keep the girls from calling the cops, but at that moment my stomach lurched again and I forgot to care. I made it to the sink, spittle flying everywhere. I let the water run and then decided I had wasted too much time already. I was going.

The bag was slung across my back as I hurried out of the house, locking it behind me. Regret surged through me—not because I was leaving, but because it was so easy. I didn't stop walking. This is what I did.

As I walked as quickly as I could I tried to think of a plan. I knew lots of places I could go to, but none of them were protected enough. Not against a demon, especially not if a Cabal had sent it. And that was the most likely scenario. Cabals were the hubs of power in the supernatural world. Individuals did tend to tangle with demons, but those foolish souls ended up dead in alleyways. The kind of public disaster that I had just witnessed needed a lot of power to cover it up. And no person had that kind of power. Not unless they were affiliated with quasi-legal mob-like organizations that ran the supernatural world.

There were four major Cabals in North America, each run by a family of sorcerers. Boyd. Cortez. Nast. St. Cloud. Nothing stood against these organizations, unless it was one another. A Cabal was the only thing strong enough to protect me from a Cabal. And I had no idea which one was safe to turn to.

My options were further limited by my parentage. I was a witch. Sorcerers—tonight's good Samaritan had been an anomaly—did not help witches.

There were exceptions, of course. The Cortez Cabal was a major one. I was most intimately connected to that Cabal; my father had worked there. I had even stronger ties to the company heir, Lucas Cortez. He was married to a witch—Paige Winterbourne, the witch who had taught me all of the good magic I knew and was trying to bring witches the respect they deserved. If I could contact them, there was no doubt that they help. That's the kind of people they were. There were only a few small problems.

They lived in Portland, so if something did come after me, there was a good chance I wouldn't reach them before getting killed. Normally when dealing with a Cabal, there was always a satellite office or two thousand. Lucas, however, was in different situation. Though he was officially heir and could influence the direction of the company through his father, he was in fact trying to get out of being heir. Cabals were evil. Lucas was not. So while he would have willingly helped me, his family would not, not without his direct intervention. And the politics of that intervention was enough to make my head hurt.

There was another reason, more personal, to why I couldn't call Paige and Lucas directly, at least not yet. They were good people, the best even, but...but they didn't understand. I wasn't about to disappoint them again. I would not go to the Cortez Cabal.

I dismissed the Boyds and St. Clouds out of hand, not knowing anybody even remotely connected to either that would not be inclined to disregard me on sight for simply being a witch. I was about to do the same to the Nasts and just give up when a thought stopped me.

The Nasts had no reason to help me because it wasn't like they felt guilty or anything for ruining my life a few years back. In a way they steadily refused to deny, by the way. And they were just as bad as the other Cabals on their anti-witch stance—worse, in a way. But due to some of the bizarre coincidences in life and a rather interesting happenstance of biology, the bastard daughter of Kristof Nast (who would have been CEO right now, if he hadn't died ten years back) was the ward of Lucas and Paige Cortez. And said daughter, Savannah, was exactly my age.

Whether or not we were friends in the normal sense of the word was debatable. We rarely saw each other, but managed to bitch at each other constantly anyway. Savannah Levine—whose life story is so complex it gives me headaches—was the most powerful witch I knew. But she lacked patience, a quality I found useful to have when studying dead languages. So we collaborated and that led to talking.

Being the daughter of a Nast, however illegitimately, should have meant that Savannah was in good standing with the whole Cabal. Wrong. She was a witch and since no sorcerer had ever had a daughter before (not a recognized one, at any rate), most of the family refused to believe she really was Kristof's. Only her half-brother Sean talked to her, and I personally thought he should get some sort of award for daring to defy the entire Cabal that way. The Cabals were scary. But while Savannah might not have access to the Nast resources, she did have access to some Cortez ones. And she was incredibly protective of Lucas and Paige. She wouldn't worry them if she didn't have to. It could work.

If only I could find her.

Too bad she still wasn't picking up her cell phone. Time for more drastic measures. I tried the communication spell. It wouldn't work unless she was awake to hear it and close by, but I had done some pretty powerful spell work tonight and hoped that maybe she was still in L.A. looking for Paige's gift.

"Took you freaking long enough!"

I jumped, tripping over a non-existence hole in the sidewalk. I hadn't expected such a prompt—or loud—response. It was only in my head, but it was better than nothing.

I turned my thoughts in her direction. "Do you ever shut up? I need your help."

"I needed your help first. Seriously, Gillian, I've been waiting for you to contact me for hours."

"I was watching someone's heart ripped from their chest. I'm sorry, I didn't bother sensing to see if you wanted to gossip."

Not that Savannah and I ever did something as frivolous as gossip. Our relationship was based on our complementary strengths. We made a powerful spell casting team. But we didn't gossip.

"Wicked," she said. She would. "So that's what all that blood was from."

"Blood?" I thought. Communication spells weren't visual. They were like select mental telepathy. "What blood?"

"The stuff you scrubbed off you back at the house."

"Okay, how do you know that?"

I stopped walking and just stood there under the street light, bag over my shoulder, glancing around. There was no way she knew that. Unless she had installed security cameras at my house, or something equally creepy.

"Because I was back at the house waiting for you." I could feel her mentally sighing. "That would be why I need your help."

"You weren't at my house."

"Yeah, I was. And now I'm under the damn streetlight." I spun around, but there was no one there. Not even a cold fog. "To the left," she commanded. But even as I turned, I knew I would see nothing.

"I just had a really bad night," I told her, eyes beginning to water as exhaustion crept up on me. "Could you cut this out?"

"I swear I'm here, Gillian. You're wearing that hobo sweatshirt your dad bought you in Chechnya that I hate and you've still got blood along your hair line. I'm right here, beside you. I just can't touch you."

I trembled in the dark and then walked to the curb. Sitting down, I went through my duffel, finally coming out with a package of cigarettes. Lighting up, I asked: "So what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"I told him you'd believe me. Excellent. So Paige's present...I might have been thinking about getting her that grimoire the Council had been looking into. You remember, the one that the witch in L.A. had?" I nodded. It was said to contain some wicked powerful healing spells. "I thought I'd go ask if she wanted to trade it."

In the darkness, no one could see me rolling my eyes. Savannah's idea of trading had likely been to walk in and demand the grimoire be handed over. She was very good at acting like the Cabal princess she should have been. There was probably more to the story than she was telling me. I knew her too well to doubt that. If she was waiting around to ask for my help, it meant she couldn't go to Paige. So whatever she had been doing, it was definitely not a white-hat type thing. Fighting had been involved, and probably dark magic.

"Only she wasn't alone. She was with these other women and they got all pissy so I told them what I thought and then they attacked me. Obviously I had to fight back—"

"Obviously."

"—and one thing led to another. It was four against one and even though I was ten times better than they were, pretty soon they had me surrounded. And that's when it happened."

"What happened?"

"That would be why I have a problem. I don't know. One second they could see me and the next second they couldn't. But worse than that, there was someone else I could see."

"Who?"

"Kristof."

Her father.

Her dead father.

This would be bad.

...


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own it, would like to, know it's not going to happen.

Author's note: I'm not ignoring cannon. Promise.

Though this is getting a little embarrassing. If no one out there is enjoying this, I can take it down, save space or whatever techno-giga-thing it is. I'm going to chapter five and then I will take it as the sign it is.

…

Chapter 3

...

I found myself tearing up. Even in the supernatural world, the only way you could see a ghost was if you were dead. Kristof Nast was very assuredly a ghost, which meant...oh no. Valiantly, I tried not to cry as I whispered, "Oh Savannah, I am so sorry."

"He's not that bad," she said carelessly. "I would have preferred my mom, but he said she had work. And that she was going to kick someone's ass when she found out she wasn't being allowed to help me."

"I meant about you being dead," I said as gently as I could. It wasn't surprising how upset I was. I never knew how to appreciate anyone until they were ripped from my life, torn out like—

"Oh, I'm not dead" she said as if it were obvious. Denial. "Why would I be able to talk to you if I was dead? Anyway, Kristof—or his boss, I don't actually understand whose coming up with the theories—they have an idea."

Talking to me might have been a sign she wasn't dead, but she was a witch, not a necromancer. She shouldn't be able to see the dead. And there was the fact that she was invisible. I brought the cigarette to my lips and took a long drag, preparing for the worst.

Savannah continued: "They think I'm stuck between two worlds."

"Two worlds?" With Savannah, it paid to never be surprised.

"That's what he says, anyway. I can see ghosts, I can see you, I just can't touch either. He can't phase me through to the ghost world and I can't use any of their transportation spells. I had to walk all the way to your place and of course you weren't home—"

"I was busy being traumatized."

She ignored that. "He says the Fates have never seen anything like this before. They don't know what to do—they think we have to fix it from your side. So..."

I shivered. Ghosts spooked me. Sure, the fact they proved there was an afterlife may have reassured some people, but I was too ashamed of what my dad would think of me to take comfort in thinking he was still around. Plus, it meant that even once I was dead, existence could still suck.

I finished the thought for her. "So I have to help you. Without going to Paige, I assume. You've got lousy timing, you know that?"

"Yeah, how'd you get all that blood on you?"

I started laughing as I sat in the gutter, smoking. Her disinterest amused me simply because she didn't mean to be callous. Hell, getting stuck between the realms of the living and the dead would allow anyone a certain bit of self-centeredness.

I relayed my night. She swore, offered to kick some ass on my behalf—the second I fixed her up—and then said proudly: "But that was some awesome casting. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Neither did I," I admitted. "So do you have a plan that allows me to hide out for a few days, just to make sure this is going to blow over?"

"As a matter of fact...do you think you could stand to go to Sean's?"

Sean Nast was Savannah's brother, the one member of her family that didn't despise her. He was also a sorcerer, and, more importantly, a Nast. I had a good reason to hate the Nasts, but was surprised to hear Savannah even vaguely acknowledge it. That was nice.

It also made a lot of sense. Sean was as safe a choice. He had all of the resources of Paige and Lucas but without any of the expectations. And unlike the other sorcerers we could have asked for help, he wouldn't kill me face-to-face, even if the Nasts were behind the attack. He was that kind of stand up guy. The type who would do anything to rescue a reckless kid sister who had gotten herself thrown out of this dimension. Just the kind we needed.

It was still dark, but I wanted to be indoors by the time the sun came up. It would make me harder to track, I hoped. I needed to be gone and going to a Nast would keep me safe, even if I didn't like the idea on principle. I could live without principles. As long as there was the living part.

"Just tell me the address."

Savannah rattled off the street and informed me it was actually a hotel. She paused before giving me the room number: "Are you going to fall asleep on me?"

I turned exhausted eyes in what I supposed was her direction and tried to glare. It had the opposite effect.

"Are you okay?" she asked, finally concerned.

"Careful, Savannah. You're starting to sound like Paige. If you're not careful you're going to start helping the hopeless or something."

"As if."

I struggled to me feet, dropping the filter down the sewer. Tugging my bag higher up my back I set off for the other side of town. It was a long walk, but I wasn't going to protest. I was going to need time to forget the night I was having. I could repress like no one else—the club might prove challenging, but I didn't think it was impossible.

…

Sean's address place was located in the part of town that I couldn't afford to breath in. He lived down by the ocean and across town. It didn't matter. When I complained, Savannah told me it had taken her almost twelve hours to get to me and the guilt helped with the walking. Technically, I could have taken a bus, but Savannah couldn't and I didn't want to leave her alone, even if this was all her fault.

It was annoying having her voice in my head, but comforting too. It was better than my voice. She didn't get tired as we walked. She hadn't eaten since the night before either, but she wasn't hungry either.

If it had been me, that would have been nothing to worry about. But Savannah was a normal human being—food should have been important. The way she wasn't tired, wasn't hungry, reminded me too much of a ghost. But I had to cling to her reassurances that Kristof was right, that she didn't belong in his world either.

I had been a tad optimistic in thinking I would be able to forget about the club completely. Every time I closed my eyes I saw that heart in high-definition colour. There were people screaming all around, no matter how I tried to block it out. Savannah's voice was the only thing keeping it at bay and even Savannah couldn't ramble on for hours.

The hotel was easy enough to spot once I got in the general area. It towered over the leafy palm trees, a white and gold testament to the idiocy of modern aesthetics. There was still blocks and blocks to walk, pushing past people who were starting to head to work, but I finally made it.

I took a moment at the bus shelter across the street to pull out a small compact. Savannah's voice boomed out: "You trying to seduce me brother now?"

I hadn't suddenly lost my mind; Sean's building would obviously ask questions if I showed up looking like a homeless person. It was that kind of place—a Cabal son wouldn't live anywhere else.

"I'm trying not to get arrested for littering his lobby," I snapped back. Savannah never cared what anyone thought about her. It was the thing I loved and hated about her the most.

It wasn't too hard to make myself look presentable in only a few minutes, even if I been through hell and back. Looking respectable was something that I had practiced for years. It might have been my only skill. My clothes were a little wrinkled, but I didn't want to change in the middle of the street. They were clean at least. One last straightening of the hair and I looked as good as I ever would. With a sigh, I left the shelter and headed towards the building where Sean Nast lived.

The sun had almost fully risen by now.

There was only one concierge in the lobby and my luck finally came back, as she spent the whole time it took me to slip to the elevators being distracted by an angry businessman. I was grateful for that; I needed some luck to keep me going. I was running on empty and most spells were probably beyond me at this point. Not that I was ever a very strong caster (thanks again, mother) but I was particularly useless now. I just needed to sleep.

The elevator had a marble floor. At least, it looked marble. I pressed my hands to the ground, enjoying how it seemed to zap the heat right out of me. If it made me look ridiculous, I was too exhausted to care and deserved a small respite. There was no one else around to judge me, anyway. Yuppies apparently got to sleep in.

"Don't pass out in the elevator," Savannah warned me. I ignored her. "Gillian, stop looking like that. You're my only hope and you can't just die on me."

"I'll be fine," I told her, struggling to stand up. "It's amazing what I can take."

"Amazing is one word for it."

The hallway had plush red carpeting and I felt a little bit like a movie star. Of course, the Cabal sons lived like this. It was enough to make you sick. To be honest, I was surprised that he lived in a hotel. If I had the money...what was the point? I didn't, he did, and he had chosen to live in a place that ensured he never had to make a bed ever again.

"I think I hate your brother," I thought.

Savannah scoffed. "It's not that nice."

She hadn't grown up with the Cabal money. Her mother had done well, but not this well, and when Paige became her guardian I knew money had been tight. Not tight the way my childhood had been, but not like the ridiculous wealth currently before us. But I let her look down on whatever she wanted. It was just her way.

There was no one around and when I got to the door, it was easy enough to open with the simplest unlock spell I knew. I was grateful. I was recuperating slower than normal—probably because of the lack of sleep—and I wasn't sure I could have used a more difficult spell. I stepped inside, hoping no one had seen me.

The wooden door was solid and I leaned against it, gathering strength. I had made it. They wouldn't track me here, not for a long while. I could rest and think of a plan when I stopped feeling sick. Relief washed over me and I asked:

"So what's the plan?"

"Talk to Sean and ask him to arrange for us to meet a necro. Don't tell him about Kristof. That's a ghost no-no apparently. I don't even think he liked me telling you. Anyway, call a necro. I want to be a hundred percent sure I'm not dead. Though not—"

"Not Jaime Vegas," I finished for her.

Jaime Vegas was the interracial council's official necromancer delegate and the most powerful necro either of us knew. But she was also very good friends with Paige and Lucas. If we went to her, she would feel honor-bound to tell them.

I glanced around and only then realized I was standing in the most incredible room I had ever seen. There were plush couches and a glass table and everything was real (imported) wood all highlighted by the open windows that let the light of the rising sun illuminate every surface. There was a television that might not have fit into my old bedroom and a full bar near the back, glasses catching in the light. There was one of the biggest desks I had ever seen, which had probably belonged to someone hopelessly important. I think there might even have been gold along the side. Everything was ridiculously beautiful and the whole place might have cost more than my life so far. The Cabals knew how to make you feel inadequate.

There was a door on either side of the television. For the bathroom and the bedroom, I assumed. I tried the one closest to me, hoping Sean would be awake by now. No such luck.

There was a very naked, very asleep, blonde man sprawled out across the bed, a thin sheet barely covering his ass. But it wasn't the fact that he was half-naked that I noticed. Okay, so it _was_ what I noticed. Sean wasn't unfortunately built at all—not that I would ever say that to Savannah. But what held my attention was the art on his back.

It was one of the most striking tattoos I had ever seen. It was a giant black cross, ornately decorated—in true, over exaggerated Nast fashion—and weaved around it I could make out the names Kristof and Josef. Behind it were intricately detailed wings, each feather lovingly crafted. You knew you were trailer trash when you thought ink was attractive. But I was not here to admire Savannah's brother's choice of artwork.

I was about to wake him up—while politely averting my eyes, or at least not staring—when a voice rang out. A female voice.

"Who the hell are you?"

A woman stood in the center of a doorway on the adjoining wall, having just gotten out of the shower. She had only a towel clutched immodestly to her. She was absolutely stunning. Even damp, her hair artfully tumbled. Her green eyes practically glowed. Flawless skin, perfect body, face ever so slightly awkward in a way that just screamed model. Considering Sean could afford the room, there was no reason he couldn't afford a plastic girlfriend, too.

Of course said girlfriend was an early riser. It was just my luck.

Sean would be glad to help his sister, but I was clearly not his sister. The tale I was about to tell him was a little bit preposterous and very presuming. Pissing off his girlfriend before he had even woken up was not going to endear me to the man. This was going to be a problem.

Savannah's voice in my head was nervous: "That's not—"

Her unnecessary warning was cut off when the half-naked women spoke again: "What is going on here?"

Story of my life—nothing good.


	5. Chapter 4

Rating: To quote Kelley Armstrong, this story "is intended for mature readers. If it was a movie, it'd have warnings for coarse language, sexual content, violence...and maybe a few more."

...

Chapter 4

...

"And who might you be?" I asked as politely as I could. I wanted to calm her down before Sean woke up. Suddenly just waking him up and explaining Savannah needed his help didn't seem like the smartest of plans.

"Could we please shut up?" a voice muttered from the bed.

Both of us turned to face the lump, which had buried its head under a pillow. The movement of his arms exposed two more tattoos down either side and one around his arm. And I had to stop doing that. It was fortunate for me that Sean didn't seem to want to wake up. Maybe I could still slip away...I couldn't blame him for trying to ignore this. I didn't want to deal with this and my life might depend on it.

"Gillian," Savannah said frantically, "You need to get out of here."

"Who the hell is she?" The woman punctuated each word with a vicious point. Her towel started to slip. I politely averted my eyes and tried to regain control of my vocal chords so I could tell them I was just going to be going.

"Gillian. Get out."

"Monica, shut up," Sean said from under the pillow.

"There is a strange woman in the bedroom. I want to know why! Now, Bryce!"

"Gillian!"

Oops. The man who groggily pulled his head out from under the pillow was not Sean Nast. Not that I was such good friends with the man, but Savannah had shown me a few pictures. The blonde man, while resembling Sean, was clearly not him. Not at all. It was Bryce. The half-brother Savannah did not talk about because he refused to acknowledge her existence, except to insult her. The second son. The one who might just have me killed for trespassing. Now that he was on his back, blonde hair sticking up everywhere, he was studying me like I was sort of some subspecies. I almost turned around and gave up right then. Only I couldn't move, I was so stunned. I was too tired to handle being surprised.

He looked at me, frozen in place, with his bright blue eyes and said matter-of-factly, "That's Belinda."

"Who the hell is Belinda?"

"My girlfriend. Remember?" His head now lazily lay on top of the pillow. His eyes didn't leave me, ignoring Monica entirely. There was no way he didn't realize I was a witch. But he kept my gaze and smirked.

"What the hell? Bastard," Savannah muttered. "He better treat you like crap. And he sure as hell better not be checking you out."

I ignored Savannah in favour of the drama happening in front of me. Monica was not taking Bryce's declaration well.

"Your girlfriend?" Monica stormed into the room properly, clutching the towel desperately. Her face was a lot less attractive now that it was turning bright red. She stopped in front of the bed. "You have a girlfriend?"

"I didn't tell you?"

"No!"

"I could have sworn I had." He shrugged at both of us. "Oops."

Savannah wondered, "What the hell is he up to?"

It seemed pretty obvious to me, which said something about my relationship with lying. I did what seemed like the smartest thing. I played along.

"Monica, was it?" I put my hands on my hips and gave her a cold once over. Sure she was a supermodel and I had just gone through hell, but I was a pretty good actress when I thought my life might depend on it. "Not very impressive, is she?"

"What the hell—shit. I still think you should just leave," Savannah pointed out. She wasn't the one who was ten minutes away from collapsing. I was going to bluff until I got a bed to sleep in.

"You better have a good explanation for this, Bryce," I snapped, his name flowing awkwardly out of my mouth. But I figured since I was the imaginary girlfriend, I should use it. Maybe I should have used sweetheart instead? Even in a fog of exhaustion I could pick up on the fact he wasn't the sweetheart type.

Monica made a little hissing sound. "I'm sorry," Bryce said, slowly climbing out of bed. He wrapped the sheet carelessly around his waist. But to Monica's surprise, he was approaching me. "She was just a little bit of fun."

He stopped directly in front of me and I had to crane my head up to look him in the eye. He had over a foot on me. He was uncomfortably close, bare chest inches from me face. I couldn't help but notice his chest lacked black ink. It would have been easier to look down, break eye contact, but he was a Nast and I had some standards—plus Savannah would kill me if I checked out the evil half-brother. Over to the side I could make out Monica, stunned into silence.

"It won't happen again." Despite how tired I was, I enjoyed the look of complete outrage on Monica's face. It wasn't very often that I had women like that jealous about me.

Still playing the part, I pulled away from him, walking further into the bedroom. My voice trembled, from exhaustion and fear, but it played perfectly into the scene. "Just get her out of here. Then we'll talk."

I didn't turn around but I heard him promise, "Anything you want."

"What?"

Monica sounded less than happy.

"You heard her. Get lost."

"But—"

"Now." I shivered and had to actively resist the urge to follow a command that wasn't even directed at me. The Cabals definitely taught classes on how to order the minions around.

"I have got to learn how to do that," Savannah said.

Monica shouted something insulting. Bryce didn't reply. I heard the woman snatching up her clothes. The towel got thrown somewhere. It sounded like Bryce's face.

"You're such a prick. I'm glad I only slept with you for your money!"

Savannah burst out laughing. "Ouch."

The door slammed. I finally turned around. Bryce stood in the doorway, sheet slowly sliding down his hips to reveal just a little bit more ink, leaning against the doorframe and looking bored. "Like I've never heard that one before. A little originality is all I ask." He walked around to a chair on the other side of the bed where a pair of pants lay. He picked them up and I quickly turned my back.

"He could have just asked you to leave the room. And you so better not be blushing. He's evil, remember?"

"Shut up," I told Savannah. I had figured all of that out myself. I could hear the fabric rustling as he asked, "So who are you?"

"Gillian MacArthur," I told the wall.

"And—that actually sounds familiar. Did we...?"

"No," I said sharply. More sharply than I probably should have, considering he hadn't thrown me out yet.

"Pig," Savannah contributed.

"An overly sensitive witch. Surprise. Did I turn you down or something?"

I snorted. The Cabal rumour mill was always churning and Bryce Nast managed to help it along most of the time. I knew maybe two things about him. He had been exiled to the other side of the country by his grandfather, banished to New York for reasons unknown. And once in the Big Apple, he had proceeded to sleep with half the city. "Have you ever turned down sex?"

"Twice." He thought for a moment. "Once."

Savannah was spitting mad in my head. "Is his problem with me that he can't sleep with me? Because clearly the witch thing isn't as big a deal as he said."

"Killing his father might have something to do with it," I thought. Savannah went silent. It was a low blow, but a valid point. No one knew how Kristof Nast died. But most people, including Savannah herself, suspected she had something to do with it. The only problem was no one could say for sure. That's where the suspicion and the anger and the hate came in.

The sounds of dressing ceased and I turned around. He was sitting in the chair regarding me wearily. He looked nothing like his half-sister. Even the blue eyes they shared were different shades. I just hoped he didn't share her enormous power either.

The silence stretched out. He raised an eyebrow. "So why are you here, Gillian MacArthur?"

I couldn't tell the truth. I didn't know enough about Bryce—though what I heard wasn't exactly flattering—to risk trusting him. Especially when it came to Savannah. I tried to play my presence off as best I could, considering I hadn't slept in forever and nightmares kept flittering across my eyes.

"I'm Sean's girlfriend. He asked me to come by to water plants and stuff."

"Gillian, bad idea," Savannah said. "At least make your lies plausible."

"I'm open to suggestions," I snapped in my head.

He stood up, unpleasant smile in place, and walked until he was looming over me. An easy intimidation tactic if there ever was one, but that didn't mean it didn't work. "Try again."

I licked my lips, hoping for inspiration. Did he just not believe me or did he know for sure I was lying? Did Sean already have a girlfriend? I couldn't remember. Damn. Savannah said nothing. Mostly to bide time until I could come up with a reasonable excuse I asked: "What?"

"My brother wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. You're not his girlfriend. So I repeat, witch, what are you doing here?"

"Just because you can't see beyond you're stupid racial prejudices doesn't mean—"

"Shut up." He was way too close for comfort now. He wasn't a big guy—okay, he probably had a hundred pounds on me and he definitely didn't lack muscle definition. He was a more powerful spellcaster, too, even if I hadn't been too weak for even the most basic of spells. Basically, I was pretty much screwed if he wanted to hurt me. He didn't attack, though, just kept talking. "That's not—just stop lying, okay? It's ridiculously early, Monica was a shitty lay, and I just want to take a shower. So why are you here?"

The lies spilled out before I even considered them.

"I'm Savannah's friend. I needed a place to crash and she said Sean wouldn't mind putting me up for a night or two. She didn't tell me anyone else was going to be here. I'm sorry. I'll leave."

Bryce backed off. "The she-devil sent you?"

"Savannah," I corrected. He rolled his eyes. He could. He didn't have Savannah saying rather unflattering things about him in his head.

Bryce scratched his head, slowly. "Right. So that poses a problem. I can't let you stay here and then tell her about how nice I was to you. That doesn't work for me at all." He thought for a moment. "You do look like hell. You might not make it out of the building without collapsing and that doesn't work for me either. Too much attention. All right, I'll tell you what. You can have the bed for proper compensation."

I stared at him, unbelieving. "Seriously? I have had a really horrible day—night—life—whatever. So if you want me to get you off, it can wait until after I've taken a nap."

There was supposed to be an emphasizing foot stomp at the end, but when I moved my foot I ended up swaying on the spot. Savannah cried out ineffectively and I ended up half on the bed, trying to support myself. Bryce hadn't moved an inch.

"Relax, kid. It's just business, nothing personal." He chuckled and it wasn't at all friendly. "And statutory rape has never really been my thing."

"I'm twenty-one." Or I would be, in a few months. Anyway, it was what my ID said. Why did everyone always think I looked twelve?

"Desperate much?" Savannah scolded. "Seriously, Gillian, I thought you said you were over the whole jerk thing?"

Savannah had a good reason to doubt my taste in men, but though her brother was most definitely my type, since he was already treating me like crap, he was also a Nast. And while I could sink pretty low if the situation warranted, I knew enough to stay well away from the Nasts.

Bryce surveyed me slowly then shook his head. "Still, ten-year old boys aren't really my thing. No offence."

The urge to cross my arms over my admittedly small breasts was carefully squashed. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He was a sorcerer—poor manners was all you could expect. Savannah began raging all over again, talking about sexists pigs and cursing sorcerers in general. I was seconds away from passing out and didn't have time for this crap. "How about I won't tell Belinda about the whore and we'll call it even, okay?"

He snorted. Savannah belatedly informed me—what the hell good was she if she always said things too late?—that Belinda had been the name of Kristof's wife.

"Belinda probably doesn't know I'm old enough to have sex—no way in hell she cares with who," Bryce said cheerfully.

"That's sick. Naming your pretend girlfriend after your mother is just wrong."

"I didn't exactly have time to look through a book of baby names."

"At least it worked." I found myself smiling, against my will, remembering Monica's face. "It was efficient, whatever else it was."

"Thanks. Can we return to the matter of compensation, please? Before you pass out, preferably."

"What could I possibly have that you want?" I demanded.

Savannah hissed in my head: "Don't say things like that! That's just—god, Gillian, think before you talk."

It may have sounded a little more desperate than I would like, but I was tired. I had left my house with absolutely nothing except for the bag on my back. And all of that stuff was essential. Unless her brother wanted one of my shirts, which would actually make no sense because he really was twice my size.

He must have seen my panic because he dropped it. For now. "You owe me," he said slowly. "We'll talk about it when you're not about to pass out. I'm taking my shower. You...do whatever you want. I'm sure my brother would be thrilled to let a strange witch room with him."

"I don't plan to stay long. Just until my head stops pounding," I explained. Savannah was screaming something about never owing a Cabal. I knew that. I knew what I was doing was stupid. But there was only so far I could push my body. Besides, Savannah could always force Sean to force his brother to leave me alone. I hoped.

"There's the bed if you want; clean sheets in the closet, I think. Or the couch. Help yourself."

"Thank you."

He walked into the washroom without another word.

"Not fair. He was practically almost civil. He's never that nice to me," she whined. I ignored her, focusing on stripping the linen off the bed. "Hey! You can't go to sleep."

"I'm exhausted, I'm traumatized and I just came face to face with the dreaded half-brother who could still change his mind and have me killed. So you know what? Give me a break."

And with that I snatched a clean sheet from the closet, wrapped it around me and, fully dressed, collapsed onto the bed. I was asleep before she could respond.

...

When I woke up I quickly realized I should have arranged the sheet a little bit better. It had gotten bunched up underneath me as I slept and it was currently pressing into my ribs. I rolled off it and fell right off the bed in an ungraceful heap, wrapped up tightly. With a sigh I fought my way clear of the sheets and tried to clear my head.

I felt a lot better. My headache was gone and I didn't think I was going to retch right that second. I was a little bruised and a little achy, but I was used to having muscles that were constantly groaning in pain. I could survive that.

"It's about fucking time," Savannah moaned. I had forgotten about her—it suddenly occurred to me why my spellcasting ability hadn't returned. I had never kept a communication spell up this long. It was usually used for quick messages, not hour long pestering. Savannah hadn't gotten the memo.

She continued to talk as I stretched. "The way I see it you have three choices: a) go out there and talk to the evil half-brother, b) stay on the floor, or c) sneak out and find some a necromancer in the yellow pages and hope Bryce never tries to collect on whatever favour he thinks you owe him. Now, personally, I'm all for option c), but we have one vote for option a), which means you're the tie-breaker."

"B," I said, closing my eyes. That was the bad idea. I saw the bloody heart again. Rising quickly, I shook my head. "C. I can always call Jaime and make up something plausible."

"Yeah, you might not want to boast about your ability to lie quite so much."

"Right now you're just a voice in my head," I said. "You might want to be nicer."

Savannah went silent. Giving me the finger, no doubt.

Since we'd decided on option C I grabbed my duffel prepared to follow through. I opened the door a crack, to get the lay of the land before venturing out. The second I did music—or something masquerading as music—blared into the room. I opened the door a little more only to find Bryce looking directly at me.

He had put on a t-shirt with 'The Clash' scrawled across it and socks since I had last seen him and his hair was dry, which said something about how long I had been asleep. He was sitting on the bar, eating scrambled eggs off a room service tray garnished with fresh flowers, but he pulled the fork out of his mouth and saluted me with it when he saw me.

Savannah swore. "I guess we're going with option A."

"Took you long enough," he shouted over the music. "I thought you might have died on me."

"What?" I shouted, looking for the source. Just under the television there was a stereo system on full blast. He shrugged helplessly, refusing to turn it down and taking another bite of eggs. I asked my question, assuming he could hear it. "What time is it?"

"Quarter after three." He studied me intently. "Never seen someone sleep so late. What the hell happened to you?"

I ran my hands through my hair, fixing it. "What hasn't happened? Thanks for the mattress." Internally, I asked Savannah, "Do we really have to?"

"Kristof thinks it would be for the best. Nast resources and all that. Though I think it would be better if you don't mention me at all."

"I figured," I sighed. Speaking out loud I asked Bryce, "Does that whole compensation thing extend to anything I can think of? Or was it a onetime only kind of deal?"

"I thought we had decided against the propositioning one another." I glared but he knew what I meant. "I'm a businessman, apparently. Making deals is what I do. You want me to throw in something else, just remember you've got to offer me just that much more."

"Get me my necro and let's go," Savannah whined impatiently.

"Tell me what he wants," I demanded of her. She went silent, talking to her father about his youngest son. I stalled for time. Something had been bothering me and though it didn't really have any bearing on the situation it would buy time. "Shouldn't you have been afraid I was here to kill you or something?"

"Please," he snorted. "You wouldn't have announced your presence so obviously if you were a threat. And have you looked in a mirror lately? You're, what, ten pounds?"

Just over ninety and climbing, but he didn't need to know that. "I still could have been dangerous."

"My pinkie could take you."

It probably could. I didn't have even the faintest of hopes in taking him in a physical fight and the amount of offensive magic I knew was limited. Still, it hurt my pride to be so summarily dismissed. I was scrappier than I looked.

"It's that kind of arrogance that gets Cabal members killed."

He just laughed. "I don't think anyone's threatened me in years."

"That wasn't a threat. It was an observation. I'm not stupid enough to threaten you. Though clearly someone needs to start."

"Try being nicer, Gillian," Savannah chided. "He might actually help us if you just smile a little bit more."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to be hitting on him."

"You alright there, MacArthur?" It was then I realized that I might have said that out loud. I was still too tired. But Bryce appeared to be amused, not terrified in the slightest about the potential crazy person in his—his brother's—hotel room. "You forget your medication this morning?"

And suddenly I knew exactly how to get Bryce Nast to do exactly what I wanted. He tolerated me and not Savannah for one reason: I hadn't killed his father.

I gave my best terrified eyes—which I had loads of practise with. My mouth even started to tremble and I let myself sound like I was going to cry. "I really do think I might be going crazy here. There's this ghost that keeps talking to me—and I know, I'm a witch, not a necromancer and it's not possible. But really, even subconsciously, why the hell would I conjure up a Nast?" His eyes narrowed as an awful suspicion leapt into his mind. He dismissed it, but I could tell it wouldn't take much to convince him. We're always willing believe the things we wish for desperately .

I kept going. "I mean, it can't really be—I have to be crazy. Only it seems so real. I mean, why would I know your mother's name? Or think a Nast could help me, even subconsciously? It really has to be—but it can't. I'm going it. Next thing you know, I'm going to be making up stories from your past."

I sighed, like I really did think I was going crazy as I demanded said crazy childhood story from Savannah. Since I was practically telling the truth, what could it hurt? Savannah came back saying, "He totally disapproves of this, says you can't tell Bryce he's here. But...I think it's brilliant. Here, Sean told me this one..."

"You bit an old lady? What kind of five year old were you?" I demanded. Of all the things...

He froze, eggs half way to his mouth. Then he put the fork down as his eyes began frantically searching the air around me. "She was evil. And how the hell did you know that?"

I shrugged. "I told you, I'm going crazy. It's not even like I can see ghosts, just this one. It's really kind of creepy, because once upon a time I swore never to talk to anybody named Nast and now I'm surrounded by them."

And just like that, he believed me. He even lowered the music with a remote so we could talk better. "What did your ghost say?"

The lying came easily. "He said to come here and Sean would find me a necromancer that would help him figure out why I can see him."

Bryce looked just about ready to agree when a pained look shot across his face. "I'm going to have to ask for something in return."

"Do we have to go through that again?"

"I actually came up with something while you were asleep. He's not going to—it doesn't matter. All right, I'll get you the necromancer, forget about you sleeping over—"

I interrupted, "And someone might be trying to kill me. I'm not sure. I just thought you should know that. So I might need to be, just...watched for a little bit."

He looked annoyed but then pushed on. "Fine. I'll even throw in complete Nast protection. And all you have to do in return is come to dinner with me on Friday."

"With a ten-year-old boy? How inappropriate."

"Trust me, you aren't what I had in mind. But most witches are smart enough to avoid me. And this would be..." His eyes gleamed and I was suddenly very afraid. "It'll be perfect, if I bring you. I promise, you won't end up dead or sacrificed in anyway. No harm will come to you." I raised an eyebrow and he added, "I'll be the perfect gentle—" He started laughing, cracking himself up. "Fuck that. And I won't feel you up if you ask nicely."

"What does Kristof say?" I asked Savannah mentally. She came back quickly. "He doesn't see how it could hurt. Dinner can't kill you. We say go for it."

I almost sighed in relief. I didn't want to have to lie to Jaime Vegas—and I was good at making deals with the devil. Once Bryce found out I had tricked him into helping Savannah, I couldn't see him holding me to Friday. "Thanks. I was getting tired of listening to how much taller you'd gotten."

Bryce nodded and hopped off the counter, snatching up car keys. "Then I guess we have a deal. You want to head straight to the necro's?"

All my belongings were in the duffel, but he didn't need to know that. I did need my grimoires to help Savannah. And some more clothes, probably. Fixing her would take a while, I was sure. Nothing with Savannah was ever simple.

"I have some books at home I want." He agreed without protest, walking quickly to the door, me following behind.

"We need the address," Savannah said pointedly. "I have to walk."

I repeated her instructions and her brother rattled off some numbers.

"Thanks for this, Gillian," she said.

"You owe me," I told her, but it was an empty threat. I would never dare to collect. I followed Bryce out to the car. A road trip with a sorcerer. My life seemed to be developing themes.

Bryce whistled _Oh Susannah!_ as we waited for the elevator and when that didn't appear to annoy me switched to the Addams Family Theme song, complete with snapping. I held my smile in. Savannah was still around. She wasn't a regular ghost. She needed to go down the elevator with us.

He did _The Girl From Ipanema_ in the elevator. I grinned despite myself. He was daring me to join in, but I couldn't whistle at all so I let him continue alone. All the better to show off.

We must have looked a strange pair coming off the elevator, into the lobby. He towered over me, but the way he slouched eroded part of the height difference. I was wearing a sweater with holes in it and he didn't look much better. The jeans he was wearing were faded a ripped and with the concert tee he looked positively pedestrian. Meanwhile, the duffle bag almost made it seem like I was a child runaway. As long as they didn't stop him for kidnapping. Following along behind us, though no one could see, was Savannah, no doubt bruised from her fight the night before.

"Be careful," she warned as I got into the convertible. It was green and sleek and I felt like I should have been impressed by the company that made it, but I knew jack all about cars. I smiled at the concern in her voice.

"I'll call for help if he tries to kill me," I promised. "You better get going. You've got a long walk."

"Don't remind me."

We cut the communication spell, neither of us admitting that it was draining. Savannah would rather die than admit she couldn't do any spell as long as she wanted. But even Savannah had to have some weaknesses. Being pulled between two dimensions had to be a strain.

Bryce barely waited until I was in the car before pulling away. I tried to keep my hair from getting in my face, but it was difficult. He drove like a madman. Searching in my bag I pulled out a hair tie. I hated pulling my hair back—it was a lot easier to see how thin it was when it was all pulled together.

He put the radio on some classical station and drove and I stared out the window, trying not to think. The club was becoming a distant memory, something that had happened to someone else. Poor girl. My repression was interrupted by my companion.

"So you're friends with the she-devil?"

I rolled my eyes and looked over. "I've never met the woman. The only person I know that you might is Savannah Levine. I hear she's your sister."

"Half-sister. And not by choice."

"Did you have a conversation with your sister before you decided you hated her or did you just count to three after you heard she existed and then flipped a coin?"

"The very first time I heard I had a _half_-sister? My grandfather's telling me about how my father died and he mentions the mysterious reason I hadn't seen my Dad in a week is because he has some bastard living in Boson. Sorry I didn't immediately send flowers to the girl."

That shut up me up a little, but I really didn't like the Nasts. Even if I knew a little too much about them. "Your loyalty to the mother who hasn't talked to you since birth is astounding."

Bryce chuckled, mercilessly. "You can't miss someone you never knew. I don't care if my old man got lucky. I just hate bastards on principle. They create problems of succession, which in turn creates problem for business. Just look at the Cortez mess. That's not going to end well. The sooner Carlos takes over, the better."

"Yeah, support the sex-freak just because he's legitimate."

"Please. You think I don't know that Carlos is a fucking tool? But he's also a moron, which is sort of what you want the boss of your biggest competition to be. Lucas Cortez may hate the Cabals, but he's not stupid enough to try and run them into the ground either. Every night before I go to bed, I say a little prayer that Carlos's next stupid hare-brained scheme succeeds, just so my life is a little easier."

The fact that I even remotely thought what he was saying made sense sort of scared me. So much so I let myself mumble some sort of meaningless reply and didn't say anything the rest of the trip. Bryce didn't seem to mind, just turned the radio to some sort of heavy metal station and began to sing along.

Eventually he pulled into the scum neighbourhood that was my home. I doubted he had ever been to this part of L.A. before. Why would he want to? I lived there and would rather be anywhere else. He pulled up in the driveway and parked the car.

"Don't be long. I don't want to catch anything," he drawled.

"No wonder you have to resort to hookers," I said just as pleasantly.

I ignored his response as I walked into the house. No one would be around—Tia should have left early that morning. I walked into the kitchen, which is where I first smelt something off. The smell of my mess last night was still in the air, but there was something else not quite right...

I made my way through the kitchen, not making a sound. Goosebumps ran up and down my body. There was something wrong here. I cast my sensing spell. I didn't pick up anyone in the house. That's when I heard the floor creak upstairs.

I cast the sensing spell again. It was a low energy spell and had always been one of my more reliable spells. The spell was working. There were no humans around. But something was moving upstairs.

It's the rats, I finally remembered. I had more important things to do than worry about the rats. From the kitchen I picked up a carving knife, the one I never used being too economical to buy something as expensive as meat. I slipped into the closet, moving aside shoes as I went. There was a ridiculously large number of them. Eight girls meant we had a lot of shoes.

When the shoes were moved, I slipped the knife between the floorboards. That was the one good thing about living in such as old house. There were plenty of places to hide things you didn't want found.

Sitting exactly where I had left it was a wad of cash and my grimoires. There was one more object—a letter, apologizing for the unforgivable, insisting my best interests had been at heart—but I did my best to ignore it. I only kept it around because it wasn't the type of thing you were allowed to throw out. One letter couldn't make up for thirteen years of wanting me to disappear.

I snatched up the blood money because I wasn't going to be in the debt of a Nast if I could help it. The money disappeared into my bra and I quickly loaded the books into my bag. I closed the floorboard back up, hiding any traces of my presence in the closet.

I stood up and began heading for the stairs, eager to grab some more clothes and not thinking about picking out something just a little bit nicer. Because I was supposed to be more well adjusted than that.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I found I couldn't move the rest of the way up. Because the grey faded carpet that lined the carpet had brand new brown stains on it. I almost retched right there. Then I spun around and ran out, making it only to the porch before the contents of my empty stomach came tumbling out.

I couldn't be sure Tia was...Tia was...but I was. I knew what blood looked like, all too well now. There were sounds coming from the house and I rushed down the steps.

"Are you—what happened?" Bryce half rose out of the car, but I waved him back.

"We need to leave." When he didn't move, I snapped: "Now!"

Bryce looked at me like I was crazy, but began reversing. And then there he was. Standing on my porch without a hair out of place, he flashed a brilliantly white smile and then walked right through the rickety porch of my house, running straight for me.

Ken.


	6. Chapter 5

..

Chapter 5

...

My panic finally made an impact on Bryce. He gunned the car engine and we took off down the street. The demon began sprinting after us, hand digging into the trunk of the car. I screamed and ducked down as the car swerved back and forth, Bryce desperately trying to shake the demon loose.

It wasn't working.

"MacArthur. Gillian. Hey! Snap out of it!"

I blinked at him, trying to process. "He killed Tia. She's dead."

Bryce wasn't listening. "I'm driving. You get rid of him."

I was still weak, but the order pushed me into action. It was born into me, I guess. I grabbed hold of my anger—anger always saved me—and focused. Clearing me head of all its jumbled thoughts I took a deep breath and began to cast. Ken slowly crawled up the truck, using his hands to punch handholds in the car to hoist himself closer to us. He was almost at the back seat when I finished.

He screamed in agony as I set his insides on fire. I muttered a quick knockback spell and he flew from the car.

"He's gone," I shouted. The demon tumbled down the street, dust swirling around him. As he crashed to the ground, he hit his neck. He lay there on the ground, neck at an impossible angle. Then he started standing. Eyes watched me from a crooked head as we drove off.

"Shit."

"Is nothing good enough for you?" I demanded, turning back around. "Oh. Shit."

Several black vans were pulling out from the street up front. One of them opened its doors and a mess of men in black spilled out onto the street, all carrying terrifying black weapons.

"Hang on," he shouted and then spun the wheel around. I slammed into the side of the car as we did a u-turn in the middle of the street. The car went over the curb, hitting someone's trashcan. I flew up and slammed back down. I was going to be sick—the men rushed back inside the vans and began driving after us.

Bryce hit the demon (again) on our way back down the street and it went flying underneath the car. He swore. "They better not wreck my car. It's taken me years to restore it."

"You're worried about your car?"

We sped down the street—Bryce ignoring all road signs. He was headed straight for the highway; it was easy enough to see that it would be easier to lose them by going faster. Never before had I been so glad that I had been forced to live near the stupid freeway.

"Can't you do anything about them?" he snapped.

"I can't!" Not only was I weak but... "I can't go after Cabal employees. They're just doing their jobs."

"Yes, let's feel bad for the minions trying to kill us. Excellent way to prioritize."

"They're not just minions. Not that you care, but they have people who love them, wives, children, families, people waiting at home. Families who hate that they have this stupid, stupid job, where they have to obey the every whim of some sorcerer jerk for no discernable reason because the sorcerer is rarely qualified for anything at all, let alone determining all the death sentences they hand out. Families who go to bed every night praying that someone like you...doesn't act like you!"

I was panting as I finished. Bryce gave me a look that said clearly what he thought of my mental state. "So your dad works for a Cabal?"

"For the Cortezes," I muttered, glancing behind me as the cars raced after us. "Died for them, too."

Not exactly true, but it had been on a mission for them that he had gotten hurt. And it had been the being physically broken beyond belief that had made him...do what he did.

"I'm sure the benefits were amazing."

They had been. Benicio had been more than generous but I couldn't touch the money without being sick. I had spent it on ways of forgetting...I had spent much more of it than I should have.

"You do realize the people that work for you are actually people, don't you? They aren't just alive to serve you?"

"That's what I let them think," he said blithely. Then he swore. "They're gaining."

The cars were close enough that I could see the shiny grey sign on the front. Finally, Bryce found the San Diego Freeway and pushed the car even faster. The black cars followed, dodging traffic, trying to get closer. Even tied back, my hair was everywhere, blinding me, getting into my mouth when I screeched:

"Don't they ever quit?"

"Not unless they're ordered too. You feel comfortable stopping them yet?"

They were getting too close. And Tia... they weren't here to drink milk and cookies. When it came down to it, I wanted to survive. They wanted to stop me? Paige had taught me how not to be helpless.

It shouldn't kill anyone—but it sure as hell would slow them down.

Ignoring my hair as it swirled around my, ignoring just how damn fast Bryce was weaving through traffic, ignoring the ache in my muscles, I turned around. Strength that I hadn't felt in a long time surged through me. Calling on that, I began to chant.

The sky darkened. Behind us, rain began to fall. Then hail. And not just tiny ice pellets, huge baseball-sized chucks of ice, slamming into the cars. Cars tried to avoid the plummeting ice, but to no avail. They swerved and twisted and I heard something crash. I spun around so as not to see the devastation.

Eventually, I asked, "Are they gone?"

"One big car wreck," Bryce said. The admiration made me fairly sick as I buckled myself back in the car. "Not too bad, witch."

As he tried to get us into a car accident—even though there was no on left behind us—I frantically searched through my duffel. My cigarettes were still in there but my hand was shaking so violently it took me five tries to get one out. The wind from the highway made lighting it difficult but I eventually managed it.

It was kind of ridiculous how difficult it was to smoke on the highway in a convertible with the top down. But it was worth it, to have something to concentrate on that wasn't fleeing for my life. I had just violated one of the most fundamental rules of supernatural existence. Sure, no one was going to think witch, but mysterious hail in the middle of a sunny down was not something that Paige would approve of. Neither was attacking people, even if they were trying to kill me. It was impressive, how I always managed to fuck up.

"Smoking kills," Bryce said with a grin. I maturely blew the smoke at him. "Causes cancer."

"Just leave me alone."

"If I'd done that, you might be dead right now."

I would have argued, but if he hadn't been there... well, I wouldn't have been either. "Who sent them?"

"Why would I know?"

"Oh please. Like you can't identify the special forces outfits of every single Cabal." I would have been more disappointed if he hadn't. But he took a long time answering. Long enough that I repeated the question. "Who sent them?"

"Who did you piss off?"

"No one!" I exploded. "I haven't done anything but sleep and study for months now. There's no way I managed to piss anyone—unless Savannah did something. She tends to give my name out when she gets caught in sticky situations." Bryce snorted. "Ha ha. You wouldn't think it was funny if you had these random half-demons screaming outside your house, demanding you give them their clothes back. I almost couldn't explain that one."

"Sounds like my sister can be a real bitch."

"Utterly." I couldn't help smiling. "She's the greatest. And those guys aren't drunk half-demons. She'd tell me if she pissed off someone with that kind of firepower."

Maybe she had...but it didn't sound like she had time to tell anyone my name. Besides, the people she had been fighting when she had disappeared would have known what she looked like. And we didn't look anything alike.

"Those weren't Cabal goons waiting for you."

I glanced at Bryce and found he looked serious. But he had to be wrong.

"No one else has that kind of resources."

"I know," he snapped. "But if they were from a Cabal, I would have known. They were like Cabal uniforms, sort of a copy, but they weren't the actual ones."

"What does that mean?"

Bryce shrugged. "Don't go for midnight walks."

How nice of him to care about my life. At least he hadn't kicked me out of the car. But I wasn't going to feel safe until I was hiding under a blanket of some kind. Trying to ignore just how terrified I was starting to get—bad enough to think a Cabal was after me, now the mysterious unknown was coming to get me.

"Some help you turned out to be," I muttered. But that wasn't fair. "At least you can drive the getaway car. How did you get good at that?"

"The necro I'm taking you to see? He loves cars. We used to go racing all the time after high school."

"And they say juvenile delinquency doesn't pay," I faked scoffed.

"Damn straight." He shook his head. "I can't believe you didn't want to get rid of them right away."

"They were just doing their job."

"And if they die on it, they get a hell of a lot more."

I didn't need to be told that. Wasn't I paying my way through one of the most expensive universities in the country from the money I had been given when my father died? I hated thinking about it, so I didn't.

"Shouldn't you have bodyguards?" I demanded.

He shifted uncomfortably, but finally replied, "Do you know what an Expiscor is?"

"My dad was one."

He could hear things that no one else could; except when it came to his family. Then he evoked the other part of his power and just didn't hear a thing.

"Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have sex when there's an Expiscor in the next room? Fucking kills the mood. So I gave him the night off."

"You can't give bodyguards the night off."

"I can do whatever I want." If he had been bragging, it would have upset me less. But the way he said it so casually, like it was obvious, made me want to scream.

"You're not CEO, Bryce. You're never going to be. That means the bodyguards answer to someone else. You just can't give them the night off, no matter how horny you get."

"If you know as much about Cabal rules as it sounds, you should be able to figure out how I managed to do just that."

I shivered in my seat, because it was too easy to imagine what the Cabals could do. That was his intention and Bryce laughed, before turning on the radio again, to sing along like before. Only this time it was to some oldie but goodie station. I didn't try and stop it. He had helped to save my life and until he realized he was actually helping Savannah, he would be helpful to have around. I concentrated on the familiar smell of the cigarette, blocking out my companion.

Or trying to. He did have a good voice. I would give him that. On key, too, I suspected, though couldn't say for sure. I tried to remember everything I knew about Bryce Nast, but kept hitting walls. Sean was a few years older than Bryce, which made Bryce the spare. All Cabals were run by a particularly family and the position of CEO was passed along like a medieval kingship. It went from father to eldest son—no exceptions. The second sons were shipped off to the board of directors with everyone else in the immediate family.

I wondered if the two brothers were close. I suspected they were, if Bryce felt comfortable enough to bring dates home to his brother's place. It occurred to me then that he might not have any place else to stay. He was supposed to live in New York. But why would he be visiting if his brother wasn't home?

More importantly, what was going to happen when we met the necro? Was he going to stick around? He was acting like he was. That was not going to end well. I couldn't exactly help Savannah when just mentioning her got her brother angry. That was not a sibling rivalry I wanted to get involved in. She was too powerful and he had too much money for me to survive either of them.

I tried to remember if I had ever heard of an invisibility spell that might come sort of close to what had happened to Savannah. But my whole ordeal soon caught up with me. I was staring at the window, not seeing the cars, one minute. The next, I was asleep.

...

I found myself being pushed hard in the arm.

"Get up. We're here."

Shaking myself awake, I looked around. We were inside a dark garage, someplace with barely enough room for a person, let alone a car. It was filled with all sort of tools—gleaming metal things that were covered in oil and grim. There even appeared to be an engine in the corner. It's parts were scattered along the floor, like shards of broken glass. It felt a little like a medieval torture chamber.

"You're not going to kill me, are you?" I really couldn't deal with that right then.

"Maybe later," he promised. "Is the ghost here yet?"

As I got out of the car, I cast the communication spell, calling out to Savannah. She responded quickly, telling me she had been waiting on the lawn for hours, complaining that I had taken too long. I didn't tell her what had happened. I didn't want to remember the blood on the carpet, the cars on the road...

"He's here," I told Bryce. "Let's go."

Bryce shut the garage door manually and then led me over to door that I hadn't even seen. The black of the door matched the grunge of the rest of the room perfectly. He glanced around and spotted a red toolbox nearby. Kneeling down, he looked through it, coming up with a key.

"Are we breaking and entering?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Only in the technical sense." He unlocked the door with a flourish. "Come on."

"If he gets you killed, I promise to haunt him," Savannah said as I held the door open. I wasn't sure how long it took her to get it, but I felt like an idiot doing it. I was beginning to think I had finally just gone crazy like everyone thought I should. I followed, prepared to let Bryce deal with whatever trouble sprang out at us. We were in a small, dark room, which had almost been taken over completely by a washer and dryer. Neither were on, but the way they gleamed in the half-light caused me to shiver.

Bryce led the way out of the room and down a corridor. Light came from a small window through the front door and that was it. It looked like someone was renovating, since the hallway was decorated with brushes and plywood and a wicked looking machine that looked like it belonged Jigsaw's basement. I stayed close to Bryce, ready to use him as a human shield if necessary.

Savannah disapproved of our surroundings. "Jeez, call a maid or something. The place looks like a cyclone hit."

Bryce knew where he was going. He went straight to the door at the end of the hallway and pushed it open without hesitation. I readied a knock-back spell and followed. Savannah wouldn't be able to help me.

The first thing I saw was the enormous television and stereo system and the hundreds of movies lining the wall. The opposite wall had an elegant looking bar, reminiscent of the one back in the hotel, though a more affordable version. In between was a gorgeous pool table while the wall was spotted with pictures of expensive looking cars. Except the fact it was lacking in women, it seemed like the ultimate male fantasy room. The television showed one of those first-person shooter games that all looked the same to me. On the red vinyl couch facing the TV a man was playing with such intense concentrate I wanted to laugh.

I didn't dare though, because he was the biggest man I had ever seen. He dwarfed the glaringly red couch. His hands swallowed up the controller, holding it the same way I would hold a plum. He was biting his tongue as the onscreen character dove around a corner, bullets spraying everywhere. A mess of thick, dark hair that fell below his shoulders crowned his head, framing a nose that was decidedly off-center. He was ignoring us completely.

"Leech," Bryce called, interrupting.

The Thing named Leech paused the game. Then he turned around. If he was surprised to see people appear in his house, he didn't show it. A huge grin spread across his face. "Dude. Took you long enough."

"Got sidetracked. Sorry."

Leech shrugged and came over. He was gigantic. He towered over Bryce, who I considered to be ridiculously tall. But where Bryce was compact, Leech was broad and built like a football player. I took an instinctive step back. I doubted even Savannah's magic could take down this building masquerading as a man.

Her awed tone seemed to imply the same: "If that's the necro, we might have a problem."

His brown eyes glanced at me and then to the air beside me. Was it a good thing or a bad thing the necromancer could see Savannah? At least her voice could stop being just in my head.

Leech had a surprisingly warm expression, considering I had assumed all of Bryce's friends would be miserable from having been around him for so long. Not that I was still pissed about the crack about my chest. He turned to me, studying me carefully, taking his time to make up his mind. He picked up my hand and held it gently. His grip was surprisingly less firm than what I had been expecting. He was probably afraid of crushing my hand.

"When he said a witch was coming I didn't expect her to look as pretty as you."

I blushed a little, but couldn't help smiling. Bryce interrupted before I could respond. "You can flirt with her afterwards. Right now, just skip to the part where you talk to Dad. Please?"

"Dude. You know how to say please?"

Bryce stared at his friend and then at the same time they broke into identical grins. Bryce shook his head, still smiling. "Talk to the ghost."

"I have been," Leech said. "He got here hours ago. He explained the whole thing to me." The hand he was still holding squeezed a little, as he let me know that he wouldn't be spilling about Savannah anytime soon. Thank goodness.

"Could you please take over translation duties? It gives me a headache," I asked.

Leech nodded and Savannah said goodbye. That taken care of, Bryce said: "Sean's coming back tonight, so I need a place to crash. And the witch thinks people are trying to kill her, so we might have to keep her around."

"Sure. You hungry?"

"Yeah."

Leech gestured to the couch. "We can come up with a plan after. You can come with me if you'd like," he said to the air. Probably getting Savannah's perspective on the whole thing.

Bryce wasted no time in collapsing onto the red couch. I stood at the end and looked at him pointedly.

"I drove. You can sit on the floor."

"Glad to see chivalry isn't just dead, but buried."

I perched on the end of the couch, pushing his feet over just a little. He kicked at me, and I found myself on my ass beside the couch. Ow. Since I was down there, I stayed put. But just because I couldn't take him in a physical fight, didn't mean I couldn't have some fun...

I cast the lowest level wind charm I could. It was a puff of air only strong enough to blow out a candle. But sent against his feet, it proved most effective. I tried to look innocent as he fidgeted, trying not to do anything as undignified as laugh when being tickled. He glared, as only a Cabal son could, but I didn't care. It served him right.

He sat up, pretending it wasn't because of what I had done. He grabbed the controller and unpaused the game and easily began working through it.

"Who's the twelve year old boy now?" I muttered.

I actually think he blushed. "Shut up. I'm being supportive."

"Of your friend's stunted emotional growth?"

"Something like that."

"He still seems nice," I said as I took the opportunity to sit back on the couch. The vinyl squeaked as I sat. This time he let me stay.

"He is. Everybody likes him. And don't worry, he's not insane. The only reason we're friends is because we grew up together."

We lapsed back into silence as I watched him kill things on the screen. Not the best thing for my scarred psyche, but it did give me an opportunity at playing normal. In a strange way it helped, watching him play. Because on the screen it was clearly only red coloured pixels flying every which way. It was just some computer geek's imagination of what blood looked like. It wasn't real. And if that wasn't real, maybe I had just imagined what had happened to me. Maybe nothing had happened. It was just a bad dream.

I reached into my bag and pulled a cigarette out. "Will he mind?"

His eyes flickered to the cigarette, but his concentration was mostly on the game. "What did I tell you about smoking?"

"Does Leech share your inexplicable concern for my health?"

"You unhealthy?" Leech entered the room carrying a bag of Tostitos and some salsa. "Do you went veggies instead?"

"We were talking about how the two of you are going to die of cancer. That's all." Bryce shot something particularly nasty on the screen. "Go ahead."

I looked to Leech for confirmation. I didn't want to be rude, no matter how desperately I wanted the cigarette. Leech nodded and held his hand out for his own. He took it with a thank you, looked at Bryce for a minute, lit up and turned off the game. I didn't doubt he was studiously ignoring Savannah's protests. She was anti-smoking and even more so anti-me-smoking. Because even if I swore up and down I had never been addicted to anything in my life, no one quite believed me.

Leech leaned over and turned off the game. "I could have won it for you," Bryce complained.

"Sure," Leech drawled. "Right, dude, first off I have to tell you that I'm not supposed to tell you who the ghost is. That's against all sorts of necromantic law and whatever."

"I know. Why else would I come to you?"

Leech flinched a little and I elbowed Bryce in the side. I didn't know why his friend seemed upset by that but I didn't doubt he had known it would hurt. Necros shouldn't tell people when the ghosts of relatives show up, so it made sense that Bryce would go to his old friend. It also played right into our hands.

Feigning anger, I snapped at him: "Great. Now we can't call in outside resources or else they'll know what you've done, and by extension, me. Just great."

"No one's going to dare accuse me of breaking anything. And I don't particularly care what happens to you."

Leech broke in nervously. "Dude, the ghost agrees with Gillian. Shhh...he doesn't want you getting into any trouble for knowing about him."

Bryce snorted and switched gears. "Don't just say the ghost. It's annoying."

"I can't call him by his name. It's not...right."

Bryce laughed, as if Leech following procedure was a riot. I found a compromise between the two of them. "Why don't we give the ghost a completely random name?"

Bryce was prompt in providing a suggestion. "Kristof."

"Okay ghost, we hereby dub you, without any prior knowledge of who you were or anything of the sort, Kristof. And if it happens to be your real name, well, it was just a lucky guest."

Leech looked at me but satisfied himself with rolling his eyes. "That's completely illegal. I'm glad I'm the only one who cares. Now what's the plan?"

The two of us looked at Bryce, who asked the obvious. "Are you sure you have no necro blood?"

"Not that it would have been completely beyond my mother, but my father did work for the Cortezes," I reminded him. "They did all the standard workups on me. If I had necro blood they would have known about it."

"Right, then. The two of you talk to the ghost and find out why the hell it's appearing. I will be hanging around, magnanimously providing any resources as you so desire them."

"What about whatever attacked you?" Leech asked.

"Attacked her," Bryce corrected. "I'm sure Grant's already looking into it. Did you catch that Paulson? Tell Grant to look into it." So that's why he hadn't stared at me when I started talking to myself. He was crazy himself. But hey, when you had that kind of money, who cared how loony you sounded? Bryce stopped shouting at the walls and turned to Leech. "Now get off my couch and get to work."

"Dude, I know you practically live on the thing, but it is still mine," Leech reminded his friend.

"I bought it."

"And then gave it to me. A present means you trade ownership."

"That's a stupid rule."

Flipping his friend off, Leech got up and pointed to the bar at the back of the room, where he said it would be easier to work. I followed him, still dragging my bag full of texts and clothes. A nice brainstorming session would help, followed by whatever practical application we could come up with.

As Leech helped me onto the barstool—made for people who were not midgets—he said quietly: "Are you okay?"

I hadn't been okay in a long time. Longer than I cared to remember, actually. But worse than that, this was the first time in forever that someone had asked me that, just to find out the answer. There was no hidden accusations, no tinges of fear about I was about to do next. He was simply concerned for my well-being and wanted me to know he was there. I hadn't even known him for thirty minutes, but he was being nice to me. I was so unused to that, my eyes started watering before I could stop them. But it wouldn't do to cry in front of a complete stranger, so I pushed them down. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Leech squeezed my shoulder before sitting on the stool beside me. I gave him a grateful smile for the quiet gesture. Then we sat down and got to work.

...


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

...

We kept our voices low so Bryce wouldn't overhear us, but it didn't make much of a difference. Ten minutes after we had arrived, his cellphone rang and he walked out of the room with an apologetic look. He didn't come back.

I figured it would be best to start by going over exactly what had happened. That took a while. Leech was translating for Savannah but it was slow going, because she didn't exactly want to own up to it. Eventually I got the full story.

Savannah had been following a woman named Penelope Yi, a non-Coven witch. By day she was a successful OB/GYN at a local private practice. By night, she was practicing dark magic, adept at spells I didn't want to think about and at being a general pain in the ass. She had come to the interracial council's attention a few months before when they heard reports that a witch was boasting that she had the power to raise the dead. Disturbing the dead was a big no-no, even (especially) in the supernatural community. The council had gone investigating.

All they had managed to uncover—surprise, surprise—was that the whole thing was a big old hoax. Yi could do a few healing spells that were quite extraordinary, but nothing that constituted breaking any sort of life/death divide. Where she had learned those spells, however, was something that had caught Savannah's attention. She had copied the address down from the file Adam had shown her and had slipped back when she had the opportunity.

Instead of sneaking into the woman's house when she wasn't home and stealing her grimoires like a normal person, Savannah had followed her to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Savannah's logic—if it could be called that—was that she had to make sure that no one else had the grimoire. But when Yi had met up with three other women and started talking about babies, Savannah had become impatient. She walked into the middle of the group and asked for the grimoire. I could guess the rest.

She only ever saw Yi attack her for sure, but she was hit by a few sorcerer spells. One of the other women even charged her with some sort of knife. Savannah had slipped down a different row of whatever was in the warehouse (she hadn't bothered to pay attention to that) and then one of the unknown women shouted something. That's when Savannah found herself invisible and unable to interact with the world. Five minutes later Kristof had shown up and tried to help her along to the ghost world. When that didn't work, they set out after me. Or rather, Savannah set out for me. Leech managed to convey that Kristof had been under the impression they were going to see Paige Winterbourne. Savannah was like me that way—we liked having our dirty little secrets.

"Repeat the address," Leech asked as he wrote down the location of the warehouse. If it hadn't been magic that caused Savannah's predicament it would probably be a portal, even though Kristof assured us the ghosts had found no portals there. "That seems really familiar."

"You know it?"

He seemed rather shaken. "It...never mind. Should I ask her to repeat the spell?"

It was really rather ridiculous to rely on broken telephone to transmit this kind of information. Leech did his best and then I cast the communication spell so Savannah could say it directly in my head. But who even knew how close she was getting to the correct answer? In an even more disturbing turn of events she informed me she could only cast the communication spell after I called for her. That shouldn't have happened; it should have worked both ways.

I started translating the spell and had Leech look through my grimoires to see if there was something similar inside of them. We looked. And looked. And turned up nothing.

"Is she sure that's how the spell went?" I asked Leech for the hundredth time. He nodded, looking up from the notes he was reading.

"She says that's pretty close," Leech promised.

I tried saying the spell again, hoping the words would reveal some sort of secret. But they basically translated to _open up, slip inside the chasm, blah, blah, blah, blah_...not quite helpful.

"You're saying it wrong."

I jumped a little. I hadn't notice Bryce come back.

"You know the spell?" I asked eagerly.

He shook his head, coming over to glance at the grimoire in his friend's hand. "That doesn't mean you're not saying it wrong."

"I figured that out when it didn't work."

Leech was watching thin air and then he turned to Bryce. "How do you think it should sound?"

Bryce motioned to me to repeat myself and I did, maybe a little annoyed, but still willing to try anything that might help Savannah. The evil half-brother listened with his eyes closed a couple of times, finger tapping lightly on his side. Then he repeated the spell back to me.

His accent was atrocious. Not just bad but ridiculously bad. If he had been trying to speak Greek, no one would have been able to understand him. But then he opened his eyes and grinned.

"It's a necro spell," he announced. He asked Leech: "You sure you hadn't heard it before?"

The big man shook his head as I intercut. "You're not even saying it properly. How can you possibly know what kind of spell it is?"

"It's definitely necro. Sorcerer spells usually have shorter repetitive cycles, and witch spells are a lot more lyrical."

"You can really tell all that..." I trailed off, uncertain. "That's interesting." It was worth a try. Keeping in mind what he said about the stress of the words, I tried the spell again. "More like that?"

"I have no idea," Bryce admitted. "The overall sound is right. I don't know about the specific."

I tried a few different variations, changing the words to fit Bryce's rhythm. Eventually, Leech spoke up. "Kristof says that's it. That was the spell."

"Spell that did what?" Bryce asked curiously.

"I was at this warehouse and I got hit with that spell. Next thing you know I can talk to your...ghost," I finished for Leech's benefit as I began writing down a phonetic representation of the spell Savannah had given me.

"Check out the address," Leech said. "Does that seem familiar to you?"

Bryce took the sheet of paper from his friend's hand. "Yeah, it does. Let me check first, but I think I know it. That's not going to be good."

"I know. What have you been up too?" Leech asked, apparently eager for a break.

"Problems at the office. Tax season and the accountants are beginning to froth at the mouth. They really need to look up the word vacation. Dude, I'm starving. I'm ordering pizza, 'kay?"

"Sure. Hey, Gillian," Leech got my attention by placing a hand on the top of the notebook. "What do you want on your pizza?"

"I'm fine."

"You do you actually eat, don't you?" Bryce said. "Because saving your life is as far as I'm going. I'm not rushing you to the hospital for malnourishment."

"I eat." Leech snorted and I knew Savannah had said something. "I do. I am just a little tired of everyone else making me. So I will have a piece of whatever kind of pizza you'd like. One piece. Because I am not hungry. And I'm not hungry because I had half a bag of chips before and not because I have a problem."

"And the overly defensive witch of the year award goes to..." Bryce was smart enough to take a step back so that my foot couldn't reach his knee. "Relax, MacArthur. Having exclusively dated women with eating disorders, I can safely tell you that I respect your decision to starve yourself to death. As long as you don't keel over, we aren't going to have a problem."

That really didn't make me feel all that better.

...

Leech brought out the few necromantic books he owned and spent most of the time glancing guiltily at the empty space I associated with Kristof Nast. I wanted to demand to be told what the problem was, but couldn't seem to figure out a way to make it my business.

One of the books was amazing. I had never seen anything like it. Not that it looked remarkable—a little old perhaps, but so were a lot of grimoires. It was the content that was terrifying. The pictures were especially gruesome, all rotting corpses and body parts. But the spells...there was a reason necromancy was considered the darkest power. Death was supposed to bring release. A powerful necromancer could destroy that in more ways than I had allowed myself to imagine. No wonder Leech didn't want people knowing he had these kinds of books.

It was in that book that I found the spell. The woman who had cast it must have been a necromancer. More importantly, knowing where the spell came from told us what it did. It opened the door to a portal.

"Kristof says there wasn't a portal there," Leech insisted.

"Well, it he must be wrong," I pointed out. Leech seemed affronted by the very idea. I ignored that. "We should head back to the warehouse tonight and see what we can find."

"Kristof is sure there wasn't a portal there."

"It won't hurt to look."

Bryce entered with the pizza just then and cut off our argument. Leech apologized to the invisible people and then hurried over to the fresh food. I stayed were I was, trying to figure out if there was spell that could be performed to close the portal, or at least get Savannah out of there. The two men at least had the decency to keep the volume down as they played video games. I wasn't sure how old they were but I could guess too old for video games, though I said nothing. That wasn't my business. Savannah was.

But with Leech gone she began repeating Kristof's warning. "Ghosts can always tell where portals are. He says there isn't one there. If you are going to investigate, he suggests you have a little bit more to go on. Walking to your place took me almost all day. It'll take me a while to get back there."

"I'm not sure what else I can do," I admitted. "I could call Paige—"

Savannah's voice broke in saying that was not an option. I knew that. But I was getting rather frustrated. There was no way to know if I was on the right track until I tried and I couldn't try until I was on the right track. I hate Catch-22s.

I tried some of the spells to return her to this dimension, but most portal spells required me to actual be at the site of the portal. It wasn't surprising when nothing seemed to work. "Let me try the Hebrew variation—"

The rumbling of my stomach cut me off. I cringed and tried to talk over it but Savannah cut me off. "I can't believe it, but I think the evil half-brother is right. You really are starving yourself to death."

"Shut up," I thought back. "I'm busy trying to help you."

"You can't help if you pass out," she said logically. "Kristof wants to let me talk to some of his ghost buddies. See what they can do from the other end. You take a break."

"I don't need a break. I'll keep researching."

She broke the communication spell and when Leech suddenly turned around I suspected what she had done. The big man grinned and climbed over the couch. "I have been told you're taking a break," he said. "Would you like to sit down? Because I've been told to make you if you refuse."

"She's being ridiculous. I don't need—"

I shrieked a little when Leech picked me right off the chair. He moved fast for someone that big. Not that I appreciated being thrown over his shoulder like a child. Even if he did feel me up as he did it.

"Put me down or I'll make you regret it," I threatened.

There was a snort from the couch, but Leech just laughed. "How?"

Poor boy. I fought dirty. Hands slipped down to his ass and squeezed.

His grip loosened in shock and I landed on my hands. I didn't have enough momentum to make it much more than a handstand, but I managed not to fall on my head either. Righting myself, I fixed my shirt and made my way to the couch with as much dignity as I could.

Bryce moved the pizza box as he laughed, freeing up the middle of the couch. I would have preferred to refuse, but Leech pushed past me and sat in his original spot and so, mind made up for me, I sat between them, nibbling on the pizza.

It was covered in hot sauce and barbecued chicken. It was absolutely disgusting. Bryce noticed and shrugged. "You should have told me what you wanted."

I ignored that and took a sip of his beer. "We should head over to the warehouse."

"You can't," he said, eyes never leaving the screen where he was trying to kill his friend. Leech was running through rooms, but couldn't seem to escape. Why did it not surprise me that Cabal sorcerers were good at killing things? "Why the hell were you there in the first place?"

"I followed this witch. Why? What was that place?"

"It's Nast property. No one should have been there. There should have been wards. You shouldn't have been able to get in."

"There weren't wards." I had asked Savannah that, and there was no way she would refrain from boasting about taking them down.

"There should have been."

"If they're weren't, all the more reason to go back now. Before—"

"I've already sent Paulson over. If the wards are still down, I'll take you tonight, myself. But if they're up, you're going to have to wait to check it out."

"Until when?" Savannah's condition didn't seem serious, but then that was something she would hide from me. I wanted to help her sooner rather than later.

"I've arranged to visit tomorrow so you can go then. God, my father better appreciate this. I'm playing tour guide to a witch."

Leech shifted uncomfortably, but I called his bluff. With more confidence than I had, I announced: "It doesn't bother you that I'm a witch."

"Says who?"

But Bryce was still amused, so at least I wasn't going to get shot for insubordination. "Oh, come on. I've been talked down to sorcerers before. You're being a jerk, but only in the most general way. Hell, even when I saved that other sorcerer's life he still talked down to me worse. Calling me witch occasionally doesn't count."

"You want the honest to goodness truth?"

He was smirking and I should have said no. It wouldn't be nice, whatever it was. But I was curious. "Yup."

"You sure you want that, Gillian?" Leech asked. "The speech is long and not nice."

The speech? Now I was definitely curious. "Give me the speech."

Bryce paused the game, and actually turned to face me. The Cabal mask was on his face, a smooth, hateful look that made me want to shrink back.

"I do hate witches. I hate them because they're pathetic and useless. They can't do powerful magic and yet want to be considered our equals. They can't get over themselves—the Inquisition was five hundred fucking years ago. Move on. They're powerless and weak and mostly unattractive. And the one time I condescended to sleep with one—" He broke off, shuddering. "Have you ever been put into a body bind?"

"Yes," I said automatically. Then I understood what he meant. "But not during sex."

"It's not pleasant. Fuck, go out and buy a vibrator and leave me alone."

"That's a pretty petty reason."

"Oh no," Leech muttered.

Bryce grinned. "You want to hear my reasons for hating other people?"

I glanced back at Leech who was shaking his head. "Go right ahead."

"I hate shamans because they're lazy, tired and their magic is mostly useless or some new wave crap that only sounds good if you're stoned. Half-demons are boring—they're one trick ponies, all of them, and yet they want you to cower in fear. The power is gone in a generation anyway. It's absolutely useless. Necromancers seem to think I liked listening to stories about dead, they're depressing as hell and they really have no sense of humour when it comes to gore. I hate sorcerers because they seem to think they're entitled to be my friend and looking down your nose all that time takes too much effort. I hate vampires because they're fucking murderers. I hate werewolves because no one should age that slowly and a bunch of guys running after each other naked in the woods is just a little too homoerotic for my tastes."

"So that's the entire supernatural community gone. Does that mean you like humans?" I was kind of scared at what he was going to say, but at the same time, kind of intrigued.

"No," Leech intercut. "You are not encouraging him. He could can do this all day and I'm too tired to listen. Dude, it's your vacation. Stop hating."

Bryce rolled his eyes, but did as he had been asked, picking up the controller and getting back to the game. Leech made himself more comfortable beside me and then asked, "Have you ever cow raced before, Gillian?"

Leech switched games and tried to teach me how to play. I was pretty bad, but I got the hang of it eventually. Bryce wasn't nearly as good at this as he as a the shooting game and eventually he had to resort to elbowing me in the side in order to win.

"A Nast who cheats? What a surprise," I snapped as his cow knocked into mine, yet again.

"At least you didn't stop to rant about minion rights this time. Oh, I'm sorry. Was that not political correct enough for you? What was it you said I had to call them? Employees?"

Leech spoke up. "Don't knock the minions, dude. I'm descended from minions."

"Did I tell you your dad came into my office and demanded I fire Mariah yesterday? He's fucking power mad, man."

"Some things never change."

On the next round, Bryce had to rip the controller right out of my hands in order to win. It wasn't fair but there didn't seem to be any sort of judge around, so I took matters into my own hands.

I accidently dropped pizza in his lap.

He stared at me for a moment in horror. On my other side Leech burst out laughing. I didn't say anything at all, beyond a nonchalant, "Oops."

Bryce's eyes narrowed and he scooped part of the sauce and cheese up into his hand. I shrank back but he looked past me and threw them right into his friends face.

Leech was still laughing as he pulled it out of his eyes. He gave me a smirk and an outrageous eyebrow wiggle. "You want to lick it off?"

I didn't answer as Bryce chose that moment to dump the rest on top of my hair. Shrieking, I scrambled off the couch as pieces of tomatoes got all over my clothes. Bryce didn't seem concerned, not even glancing down at the mess in his lap, just turning his attention to the game. "You can lick it off me when you're done with Leech."

I flipped him off and Leech told me where the bathroom was before it could get uglier. I may have knocked my duffle bag into Bryce's head on the way out.

The shower was the most beautiful experience of my life. It was warm and quiet and I stayed there a lot longer than I should have, curled at the bottom. I absent-mindedly traced the contours of my ribs and some part of me acknowledged that I had to start forcing myself to eat. But at least I was warm again.

I pulled on my pyjama shorts and then found the bulkiest sweater I had brought with me. There was no sense in advertising the fact a good breeze would knock me over. Leech seemed nice enough, but they were both still a lot stronger than I was and I didn't want to remind them of it.

It was only on my out of the shower that I realized that the shampoo was almost disgustingly floral. I glanced around the bathtub and found another bottle, this one the generic, scentless stuff. Curious, I opened the mirror cabinet to reveal an extra used tooth brush and some products I doubted belonged to Leech. That meant, unfortunately, there was a woman living in the house. All the nice ones were taken.

We played a little longer once I got out of the shower, after Bryce announced the wards were back up at the warehouse and therefore we couldn't go that night without bringing Cabal security down on us. It was in my best interest to avoid that scenario, but it didn't mean I liked just doing nothing. All night, I kept waiting for Leech to announce the return of Savannah but he never did. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing. I wasn't the person who helped. I was the fuck-up Paige and Lucas always felt obligated to help because they felt vaguely responsible for her sister dying—I didn't do the helping. Where did you start?

Leech offered me his bed for the night. I wondered where the mysterious woman was, but didn't ask. Bryce insisted we weren't here to kick Leech out of his own house and I had to agree with that. Bryce promptly claimed the guest bedroom for himself and the couch for me. In turn, I kicked him out of my "bedroom" and shut off the TV. I was exhausted.

But when I was alone on the couch, huddled under the three blankets Leech had brought for me, I couldn't sleep.

I still felt dirty, even with slightly damp hair. I could still smell the blood from the other night, feel it across my face. But it wasn't just that...it was Dana all over again. I was going to have to watch, unable to do anything as Savannah eventually ended up...I had to stop thinking like that. I had to; I wasn't a helpless little kid anymore. I could stop this. I had found the spell, now all I had to do was reverse it.

I lit up a cigarette after awhile and paced up and down the room. I was safely hidden away but I couldn't stop worrying. Should I go out looking for Savannah? Should I call the other girls, make sure they were safe? Or did they think I was somehow responsible for Tia's death? I had pushed that thought away, but now it was back with a vengeance, not leaving me alone for even an instant. I couldn't believe it. I had thought things were supposed to stop going to hell. Paige had promised that therapy was supposed to do something. Yet here I was, right back at the beginning. I was all alone and there was a dead girl out there that I could have saved.

I just about jumped out of my skin when I heard the faint knocking at the door. It opened before I had a chance to respond. I took another drag of my cigarette and brought my hand to my head in exasperation. "I thought you were sleeping."

Bryce shrugged, still completely dressed. "I'm just in the next room and I can hear you pacing. It's keeping me up. Go to sleep."

"I will," I promised. Soon. When I stopped going crazy.

He continued into the room and for a completely irrational second I hoped he'd come in here to distract me. But he walked right past me to the window. "Come here," he ordered.

I did, shivering as I moved my socked feet along the cold floor. Nothing seemed to keep me warm at night. He was staring out the window but when I approached he turned around and kept his gaze on the middle of the room. "Watch this." And then he said loudly, "Paulson, Grant. Inside, TV room. Now."

For a second nothing happened. And then right in front of me appeared two gigantic men in dark black suits. Actually, though they towered over me, after meeting Leech they seemed sort of diminutive. The one on the right actually was probably the closest to my height in the entire house and he had to be at least five ten. I was in Brobdingnag. Yay.

They made an interesting looking pair. The one that was slightly forward was older with a sleek bald head and a look that suggested even Bryce Nast couldn't disturb him. But he was much too short for a body guard—Bryce was actually taller than him. The other was a little less calm, eyes darting between his partner and his boss. He was only a few years older than me, which was surprising. Usually bodyguards were older. He towered the other two and the spiked red hair added even more inches to the height difference. His skin shone in the half-light, making him look like a ghost, especially in comparison to his dark partner.

"Meet Grant and Paulson," Bryce said with a flourish. "The reason you should be sleeping soundly and not pacing."

"Which one's the Expiscor?"

"Paulson," the older one said gesturing to his partner. "We're at your service, Miss MacArthur."

Paulson jerked a arms in my direction, about to offer his hand and then thinking better of it. Grant had no such compunction, and stuck out a hand for me to shake. But it was brief, a reminder of how the Nasts treated their employees. They weren't people, they were tools.

"My bodyguards have the quickest turnover rate in the company," Bryce boasted proudly. "So you see, Gillian, if they want proper severance when they quit, they have to do a bang up job now."

"We take our job must more seriously than Mr. Nast implies. No one will come within fifty feet of this house without our knowing and we will remove you from danger immediately upon sensing something." Grant was clearly the only one who dared to speak. Paulson just looked at the floor.

"You're safe with Grant. I mean, he might leave me behind, but not you. He has a thing for blondes. Funny quirk for an Abeo, but what are you going to do? "

An Abeo? Abeo's were very rare and for that reason prized by the Cabals. Unlike common teleporters they weren't limited to horizontal planes and could move as far away as fifty feet instantly. That made them excellent at breaking in entering, and a whole other host of quasi-legal activities that Cabals specialized in. An Abeo could have his pick of jobs, within the company. If he didn't want to be here, nothing could have stopped him.

So Grant wanted to be with Bryce. Maybe he liked spending his days frantically chasing after his boss. We all have our quirks. But if he was here by choice that meant Bryce had been teasing before which meant they were friendly which meant...

"Oh god. Please tell me you're not trying to make me feel better." I couldn't handle that. Not after the day I had. I liked keeping things simply. Savannah was nuts, I researched and all Nasts were evil incarnate. Anything else was going to be a problem.

"I'm trying to get to sleep." He looked incredibly annoyed, but a tiny smile had flitted across Grant's face.

"I'm going to be sick," I muttered and then doubled over.

One second I was about to hurl on Leech's polished floor and the next there was a trash can in front of me, catching the half-digested pizza that came up from my stomach. Hands brushed the hair back from my face as I continued to spew up dinner. When I had finished making a fool of myself, I glanced up at Grant who let go of my hair and moved aside. He glared at Paulson for a moment, before the younger man hurried from the room.

"It's like I said. He's useless," Grant complained quietly.

Bryce ran a hand through his hair. "He can hear you and he just needs more time. We're running out of possibilities; I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel as it is. Just give the guy a damn break."

"He's too slow. And he's not learning."

Their argument was cut off by a blushing Paulson who handed me a glass of water. I took it was a grateful smile, as Bryce tried to stare down Grant.

As I rinsed my mouth they both backed off to give me room. With no trace of arrogance, Grant stated a simple fact: "I am the best, Miss MacArthur. There is nothing to worry about."

And just because he said it, I believed him. "Thank you."

"I am so offended right now, I can't even form words," Bryce said. "I've never made anyone throw up before. Not accidently, at any rate."

Any angry retort I might have made was swallowed by shame. I just said wearily, "I told you three pieces was a bad idea."

"What the hell happened to you?" What hadn't? But he thankfully he didn't wait for an answer, just complained to Grant, "You've never done that for me."

"When you drink what you do, you bring it on yourself. Sir."

Grant's expression never wavered and then next instant he was gone. Bryce finally let his smile come through, but when he noticed me watching he scowled again. And then he just shrugged and decided not to bother. He left the living room, calling over his shoulder:

"Sleep well Gillian. If you need anyone, Leech's room is the one at the end of the hall, on your left."

I went back to the couch and tried to fall asleep, knowing Savannah was invisible somewhere nearby, and probably mocking the fact I was a wreck. As I drifted off into my beautiful dream world, all the people I had failed over the years slowly rescinded to the background.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

...

I woke up chattering. The blankets still lay on top of me but they were no longer enough. The house was silent. Glancing around for a clock, I could see the morning light streaming through the window, creating a glare on the giant television screen, one that managed to reflect a rather unflattering image of myself. I blinked to clear my head. Sore from the old couch, I got up and stretched.

As the past twenty-four hours flooded my systems, I forced myself to change. A quick search through my duffle showed my cigarettes were gone, but it would be easy enough—if time consuming and annoying—to get them back from Bryce later. And least he hadn't taken my photo. I would have killed him if he had.

When I was dressed, I walked towards the kitchen, hoping to find some food. What with last night's little display, I knew I was nowhere near fulfilling any sort of nutritional requirements. Leech had pointed the kitchen out to me the night before and I found it easily enough, only stubbing my toe on some of the debris in the hall once or twice.

The kitchen was completely different from the living room, so much so that it felt like I had entered a different house. Where the living room was completely modern, with smooth lines and shiny fabrics, the kitchen looked like something straight out of a history textbook. The walls were stone and the island was some kind of age wood. Black iron pots hung from the ceiling and it even looked like there was a stone oven in the corner. It was a kitchen from a catalogue—a kitchen built for a chef, but strangely enough it was so clean I didn't think it had ever been used. Over in the corner there were even some wilted flowers, adding to the untouched nature of the room. The only place that was a mess was the island.

Leech sat in the middle of this pristine room, munching on a bowl of cereal. He was surrounded by three types of juice and seemed to have arbitrarily poured them into the same cup, creating a murky brown liquid that did not look appetizing at all.

"Morning," he greeted. "Sleep well?"

"You have a great couch."

He gave me a small smile. "Liar. You hungry?"

I nodded and he opened his cabinets to reveal the largest collection of cereal I had ever seen. It was as if he had brought the supermarket shelf home with him.

"Am I supposed to pick one?"

"I tend to mix and match. Want me to surprise you?"

He already had. I hadn't actually thought Bryce would have friends, let alone nice ones. "Sure."

He made me close my eyes as he bustled about. Cereal fell into a bowl and then more cereal. And then some more. I probably should have mentioned I wasn't that big of an eater, but I didn't want to offend him and I was curious to see this strange concoction. I could hear the fridge opening and closing. Breakfast was an intense process in this household.

When I was allowed to open my eyes, he presented breakfast with a flourish, proudly displaying a bowl filled with cereal in colours and shapes I was pretty sure was unnatural. One bite convinced me that I shouldn't care. It was delicious. I thanked him.

"You talk to Savannah this morning?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"She's right here," Leech said, pointing to an empty chair. "We wanted to wait until you had eaten before bombarding you."

"Did she and Kristof find anything last night?"

"Nothing on the ghost side. Though they did confirm that there have been a few portals that are only on one side." He looked nervous as he added, "There's also the problem of her fading."

"What?" That didn't sound good.

"I've never seen it happen to a ghost before. This morning she was translucent—like the ghosts you see in movies. She's fine now, but..."

Not good. That meant we were running out of time. I felt guilty for wasting time last night. Obviously there was something wrong with Savannah and it wasn't about to go away. I went straight to the next step:

"When are we going to the warehouse?"

Leech shifted uncomfortably. "There's a problem with that, too."

"Which is...?"

"Bryce said he'd come."

"So?" I mean he wasn't that bad, most of the time. And the resources he had at his beck and call made up for whatever stupid thing was coming out of his mouth.

"What do you think is going to happen when Savannah magically appears in front of him? I'm his best friend and he might kill me. You...you probably won't make it," he admitted.

That was comforting. And slightly confusing. "Leech? I don't mean to pry, but if he is your best friend, then why are you lying to him? Not that I don't appreciate it, but..." But you didn't lie to you best friend. Those were the rules.

"Hey, Bryce is helping somebody. His first vacation since he moved East and he chose to help someone? I'm still pinching myself. I mean, he's doing it reluctantly, and not being very polite about it—I'm really sorry about the witch tirade. But he's helping. Sort of. I'm not going to be the one to ruin that," Leech said with a shrug. "I only wish I had thought of it before you."

Yeah, manipulating a guy using his dead father? Why wouldn't Leech wish he'd thought of that? Feeling a little sick—though thankfully it was the self-loathing and not the food this time—I asked: "Where is he?"

"He's out back. I half cleaned the drains out yesterday and he offered to finish up so I could keep Savannah entertained."

"Okay. I'm going to talk to him. You can figure out the directions."

"Savannah wants to know what you're going to do," Leech says apologetically. "She seems concerned."

I couldn't help laughing. I definitely needed a translator between Savannah and me all the time. "He's on the roof, right? That's too public for him to kill me." Or fuck me, I didn't add, though that was Savannah's actual concern. She knew me too well to doubt that I found blatant disrespect attractive. But I didn't say it in front of Leech. I wanted to preserve his good opinion of me for as long as possible. It had been a long time since anyone had thought well of me and I wasn't giving that up without a fight.

The living room doors opened onto a small porch. For a moment, I stared at the yard in front of me. It was so perfectly landscaped, weeds didn't dare to grow. There was even a gazebo in to corner of the house. The porch was fairly small, though it must have been hand-crafted. Where did these people get the money? Just beside the porch, I saw the ladder Leech had told me about. Someone had placed it right smack dab in the center of a bed of petunias. The flowers were strewn about everywhere, and only a few had escaped being crushed underneath careless feet.

I tried to be careful as I climbed up the ladder myself. Leech lived in a bungalow and I couldn't help but wondering if I really needed the ladder. There was some well placed trellises that I should have been able to use. Maybe if no one was around, I could see if I still had it. The roof was mostly flat and covered in orange singles, which the sun had started to warm, reflecting heat back at me.

Bryce had his back to me, concentrating on the gutter on the right side of the house. That didn't mean he hadn't heard someone approach.

"Took you long enough. I told you witches were a pain, man."

"I actually kind of like them," I informed him. "I find they tend to be less judgemental."

He turned around, clearly surprised to see me up here. He must have been out here longer than I thought—he was sweating through his Grateful Dead shirt. I settled myself on the top part of the roof and waited for him to come over. This wasn't the sort of conversation I wanted to him while he was holding tools.

He did come over, dropping the metal weapons as he went; I tried not to let my relief show. Or notice the black lines that encircled a not unfortunate looking bicep just below the sleeve of his shirt. The ledge was the perfect place to sit and he dropped down beside me. "You should have brought me something to drink. I'm dying up here."

"You should have left my cigarettes alone."

"You'll thank me later," he said with a shrug. "What brings you up here? Fondness for drains?"

"Have you looked into what happened at the club? Or at my house?"

"I've had my people looking into it. Everyone at the office knew about the murder Friday night, but it's got them nervous. They don't know who caused it. And we don't like having new players in town." Especially not in L.A. The Nasts owned Los Angeles.

"But they're still looking, right?"

"Don't worry about it. These guys are the best. And until then, well, no one will hurt you if you're with me."

"Really now?"

He pointed out Grant and Paulson, stationed just inside the gazebo, unmoving. How did they manage to stay so perfectly still? It occurred to me that they might just be mannequins, painted up so that I just thought I was safe, but the idea was ludicrous. I was grateful to see them again. For someone who obsessively flirted with Death, I was rather disinclined to meet the guy. I preferred his cousin, Oblivion—he understood I wasn't ready for a serious relationship. And if the men in black suits helped keep it that way, so much the better.

Bryce was still talking. "Plus, Cabal children have immunity. No one would dare hurt you for fear of hurting me and the international incident that would follow."

"Those men in the vans yesterday didn't stop and ask if you were a Nast. What do your 'people' have to say about that?"

He shifted uncomfortably, somehow ending up much closer to me than I would have liked. "I can't report that," he admitted finally. "If I did, I'd have to explain why Grant and Paulson weren't with me."

"So you can drug them and leave them, you just can't tell anyone about it?"

"They'd get blamed for it. And Grant's been with me twenty fucking years. It would be too hard to train someone to replace him. So, just, don't mention that, okay?"

For a Cabal employee, I could keep silent. I tried to work out how young Bryce must have been. I wondered if he'd even been old enough to talk. I had never heard of a bodyguard staying for twenty years—it was dangerous work and the stress killed you when other people didn't. Bodyguards were with the Cabal sorcerers almost all of the time. That was twenty years multiplied by twenty-four hours. That was a lot of time together. A lot of time. I could see why a potentially life-threatening altercation would pale in comparison to that.

"Why did you do it, anyway?"

"Grant disapproved of...whatever her name was. So I figured I'd give them the unofficial night off. And let them chase after me, spice up their day."

Cabal prince. Bastard.

The sun continued to beat down and I felt my eyes begin to close as I baked in the sun. Each moment the temperature rose exponentially. The tiles under me were slowly cooking my legs. I was on a roof skillet and it felt nice. I leaned back slightly and let the sun wash over me, whispering against my skin. I could feel Bryce beside me, the tiny hairs on his arm ticking the inch of skin where my shirt had ridden up. I wanted to tell him to move but didn't want the hassle.

I also didn't want to do what I had come up here to do, but I had to. Changing the subject, I asked, "Did you mean what you said yesterday? That rant about witches?"

"Is this your liberal guilt asking?"

If I was honest with myself, I would admit that I was good at manipulating people. Too good, I thought, most of the time. But the fact of the matter was, I wasn't sure how to get Bryce Nast to do what I wanted. Because while playing on his feelings for his dad was easy enough, it wasn't his dad who was the problem. It was Savannah. And I wasn't sure how he felt about Savannah.

Which everyone on the planet would say was me being delusional. Bryce was a Nast. The Nasts hated Savannah. But then, I didn't think hate meant the same thing to Bryce as it did to the rest of the planet. Hadn't he cheerfully admitted to hating me? But he was helping me out—and occasionally coming on to me. Clearly hate didn't quite mean what I thought it did.

Then again, Savannah was responsible for his father's death. My passive-aggressive hatred for the man beside me stemmed from the death of my sister, which every part of me realized was unfair. It didn't make me hate him any less.

"Did you mean it?"

"As much as I mean anything."

That looked like the best I was going to get. But did that mean he hated Savannah as much as he would hate anyone? Or was she special? I rolled my eyes. Savannah was always special.

"So I lied to you," I began, trying to glance up. The sun was too bright, so I brought my hand to my head, shading my eyes. Confession wasn't usually my thing and it was harder than I thought it would be.

"A witch who lies? Really?"

The fake surprise in his voice annoyed me. I think I wanted to hurt him; destroy that damned Nast pride that had killed my sister. And I owed it to him because at least talking to a Nast—the people morally responsible for Dana's death—was my choice. This was something he should know

"I can't talk to your father," I announced. "He's here, but he's not the voice in my head." He didn't understand so I kept going. Slamming the door on the help he could provide? Probably. "A friend of mine went to that warehouse. Someone cast that spell on her. She ended up invisible, unable to interact with the world. Your father's been with her, helping her. But she's the one I've been talking to."

It didn't take him long to figure out what I meant. What did he know about me, after all, other than I was Savannah's friend?

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you need to know. Please, don't push me off the roof."

"I'm considering it." He was considering a lot of things, muscles tense, not moving. I could only guess what he was thinking. Was it worth it, having his father around, when he had to have his killer around too? And what did it mean that Kristof was helping Savannah? Finally he spoke, "Does this mean she's dead?"

"Your dad says she isn't. He says she can be brought back." I pounced on the opening he had left me. "Shouldn't you sound more excited by her early demise?"

"Sean says it was an accident"

I didn't have to read minds to know what he meant. "That's what she says too. If she actually did it, she wouldn't feel compelled to lie about it. Trust me on that."

"Have I heard you tell the truth yet?"

I honestly didn't know. Probably not. I really had to stop doing that. Offering him something small seemed like it might help him decide not to push me off the room.

"I like the tat."

"Which one?"

Saying all of them made me sound too much like the white trash I actually was. So I settled for: "The one on your back. I didn't get a good look at the one on your arm."

I wasn't looking for an invitation, but he gave me one anyway, pushing up his right sleeve, showing off the ink. At first, I thought I was looking at a snake encircling a bird. But a second later I realized my mistake. Though it coiled and wavered, especially when he flexed, up close I could tell it wasn't an animal. Thought it was some sort of...

"A whip?" I asked, tracing the outline. I did not notice how warm his skin was, or how fine his hair was. I was concentrating on the artwork. Pushing up his sleeve still further I examined the bird. "Why is it around the eagle?"

"It's a long story," he said, grinning at the memory. "Too long. You have to get going. Take Grant and Paulson with you. I've already told them how to avoid the wards."

"You're going to let this go?"

Bryce shrugged. "I hate being predictable. Help the she-devil if you want. It's nothing to me."

I didn't quite believe him, but as long as he wasn't actively trying to stop us, I could live with it. Picking myself off the roof, I dusted off my clothing and headed back towards the ladder. I turned to glance back—because I was an idiot—and found Bryce staring at me.

"Hate witches a little less this morning?" I asked.

He just smirked.

"You know, MacArthur, when you jump me, I think I might let you."

I tried not to blush, but I don't think I succeeded. So to get some off my long-abandoned pride back I smiled back.

"Great. Now I can die happy."

And then I threw myself off the roof.

It was a stupid, show-off-y stunt that I wouldn't have normally dared tried. But it was hot out and it had been months since I had anything to show for my training. If I could shut up Bryce Nast, if only for an instant, then I was going to try.

You weren't supposed to do stunts like this without practice and sure as hell not without a spotter. But Grant had said to trust him and he could teleport if I needed him. I didn't think I would. I was pretty good at judging distances and the porch railing ended up exactly where I had wanted it to be. My arms went out—the shock reminding me why warm-ups were a good thing—and then I was flinging myself up and over. I didn't stick the landing, but managed to stay on my feet.

Out of habit, I bowed in the direction of the judges, in this case Grant and Paulson. Only Paulson was there. Turning around I spotted Grant not five feet away. He gave me a quick nod and then disappeared, ending up back in the gazebo. I rotated my wrists, trying to loosen them up, as I glanced up at the roof. He wasn't even peaking.

Oh well.

...

Leech had found the directions to the warehouse and wasn't surprised when I announced that Bryce had changed his mind about coming. He was surprised that Grant and Paulson were coming with us. When asked who would be left protecting Bryce—which I actually hadn't thought of—Grant informed him that the security on Leech's house would be adequate. Apparently, Bryce had actually been planning to stay at the necromancer's house. Crashing at his brother's room had only been a temporary detour.

Paulson drove us in the most conspicuous black SUV around. None of the men said anything on the way over and I didn't know what to say. Savannah was staying back at the house, unless Kristof could think of something else. We would tell her to start walking if we found something in the warehouse. She hadn't been able to give us exact directions to the portal, so it could have been anywhere in the building. But I was counting on Leech being able to find it. Necromancer's always managed to find portals.

The drive was a long one and I was impressed that Savannah had managed to walk the whole way on foot. It also made me nervous. It was a long walk. She should have been exhausted, especially when she had to turn around and walk me back across town.

Worrying about Savannah just made me feel sick, so I studied the men in the car instead. Without Bryce around it was easy to notice a change in Paulson's demeanour. The looks of disdain he continued to shoot me showed that his facsimile of politeness had been only for the sake of his boss. Without him around Paulson apparently saw no reason to hide his disgust for the supernatural that most supernaturals thought of as powerless. He was clearly a Nast employee—Cortez employees didn't act like this. I was only the daughter of one, and still I knew that you maintained an aura of polite disinterest at all times, no matter what your feelings, no matter the situation. Always polite.

Like Grant. His attitude was distant but respectful, the exact type my father was always explaining was the perfect one to use when at work. He probably thought the same as Paulson—why did they have to waste their time guarding a witch?—but his expression gave nothing away. It was actually a strange contrast. I would have thought the one who had been with Bryce the longest would have been the more impolite.

Grant even glared when Paulson didn't immediately open the door for me. Not that I needed him to, but we were all here to do our jobs. The building they had parked in front of was huge and square, and containers of some sort lined the parking lot. This was the grungy, hard-working side of California that people rarely saw. I hadn't even known it had existed until I moved East.

Grant and Paulson carefully brought us to the front door, avoiding the security traps by habit and knowledge and the fact that Bryce had ordered most of them to be turned off earlier today.

"I don't like this," Leech said as we waited for Grant to open the door. "It doesn't feel safe."

"It's just a big creepy building. Nothing to worry about," I teased.

"We care take of anything," Grant said, then added, "Sir."

Leech looked positively mortified at that. By the sir or by its slow arrival? It had been borderline disrespectful. But Grant always easily called me Miss. It almost made me think that Paulson's angry glare wasn't pointed in my direction.

I cut in: "We should hurry, if you're nervous. Can you pick up any sort of trail?"

The big man stepped through the door. Paulson let him pass. My father would have slapped him upside the head. That wasn't proper procedure at all. I followed him inside, pleased that Grant had the grace to bring up the rear properly, scanning behind us for potential threats and glaring at his younger partner. I muttered a sensing spell, just so nothing could sneak up on us. Grant disabled the alarm.

In front of me, Leech had his eyes closed, taking deep breaths.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"Nothing. But there's something wrong here. Very wrong," he muttered.

He began moving through the huge boxes and the rest of us trailed after him, following our leader. Turning his head to watch us every minute, Leech was obviously uncomfortable. Still, he kept going. I cast a quick light spell, trying to see in the dark. Grant and Paulson pulled out flashlights. Between the rows and rows of shipping containers, it was dark and difficult to suppress the feeling that something was about to jump out and axe-murder us all. Faint noises echoed in the background, mice or something more sinister. I couldn't dwell on it.

"Miss MacArthur?"

I looked up at Grant, surprised he had kept up the title. But since Bryce wasn't around... "It's Gillian."

"I know, Miss MacArthur," he said with the tiniest ghost of a smile. "We just wanted to say that the next time you pull a stunt like the one back at the house, you should give us a warning."

"But what fun would that be?" I said, trying to keep Leech in my sight.

"Mr. Nast would be most unhappy if we let you crack your skull open."

"Especially since he's gone to all that trouble of giving her permission to come near him," Paulson muttered.

Grant and I turned to stare at him and he blushed, ducking his head and pretending to check behind him. I felt my face heat up a little, because I had forgotten about him being an Expiscor. Damn. That meant he could hear everything. I hoped not; it took a lot out of an Expiscor to have their powers invoked all the time. With the conversation effectively over, we just hurried after Leech.

Leech turned yet another corner. I was starting to suspect he had no clue what he was doing. It was getting darker, less safe, as we moved deeper amongst the storage. I shivered. Maybe I should just contact Savannah and see if she couldn't give better directions? Ten more minutes and I was just going to run outside. The darkness seemed to be moving closer.

"Ignore Paulson." I jumped a little when Grant spoke. "He hasn't yet learned any manners. Or his boundaries."

Paulson said nothing. Because these were my people, I decided to be upfront: "Why don't you like me?"

Paulson turned redder but said earnestly, "I don't—or I do—you seem nice enough Gill—Miss MacArthur. Anyone who can scare the shit out of Mr Nast is fine by me."

Grant scowled, but said nothing and I found myself really grinning at Paulson. "Scarred shitless?"

"Heartbeat through the roof," he confided. Grant cleared his throat and Paulson looked properly chastised. "Possibly," he threw in.

"Then why don't you want to be here?" I asked. Because it was obvious from the way he had been acting before that he didn't want to be.

"It's a blatant insult to the necros. Mr Nast doesn't have the right—"

"Never mind," Grant ordered. They fell silent, as Grant pretended to be checking the perimeter. Paulson hushed, but glared off into the distance, off in the direction of...but how could you not like Leech?

"I think I found it," the big man called and I hurried away from the guards. Leech was standing in front of a yellow storage container, staring at it in rapt attention. "I think this is it, but...I've never seen anything like it."

"What's wrong with it?" I asked.

An enormous arm swung out and held me back. "Stand back. I don't like this."

The storage container looked just like every other in the damn warehouse, big and mental, and completely sealed shut. Leech was staring at in with something akin to horror on his face.

"Contact Savannah," Leech told me.

I cast the spell. "About freaking time!" Savannah immediately whined. "What took you so fucking long?"

I was so busy concentrating on formulating a response that I jumped three feet in the air when Paulson put his hand on my arm. There was no sign of the disgruntled employee on his face. Cool efficiency had taken its place. Dad would have been proud.

"We need to go."

...


	9. Chapter 8

Author's Notes: Still have been unable to buy Living With the Dead. Stupid bookstore. I hope nothing's too contradictory.

...

Chapter 8

...

"But we haven't even—" I began to protest. Savannah was still ranting in my head. We had just found the portal. We couldn't leave.

"Now, Miss MacArthur. And be silent," Grant said firmly. I turned to Leech for help, even as I let Grant take the arm Paulson wasn't holding, pulling me back the way we came. The big man didn't protest, just stared at the yellow container a little longer and with another frightened look, followed along.

Grant let go of me once he was sure that I was coming. How they knew which way to go was beyond me—it all looked tall and scary. The pace quickened, as Grant asked Paulson, "Are you sure?"

"There's someone out there," Paulson confirmed. "And they don't care who knows it."

Fear gripped me and I interrupted Savannah. "We have a situation. I'm sorry." And with that I cut that spell. She was going to kill me.

The two half-demons exchanged looks and Paulson turned to say to Leech, "Get close and pick up the pace."

I cast the sensing spell again, surprised how far it extended. Usually the area it covered was much less. I guess stressful situations were helping increase my power. Besides the three men that were currently with me, I could feel more—lots more—people swirling on the outsides of the spell. Beyond the walls—for now.

Paulson stopped moving abruptly, effectively stopping me as well. The other two gathered around him as he carefully motioned something to Grant. I closed my eyes and felt the presence of two humans coming towards us. The guards took out their guns and Leech pushed me up against a container, shielding me with his body.

A voice boomed out in the darkness. I couldn't make out what it was saying, but could guess. _Come out, come out, wherever you are..._

I rushed past Leech, dodging his grabbing hands. Surprised, they were too slow to stop me. I pressed against the opposite container, lowering myself to the ground while muttering a cover spell. Grant nodded as I disappeared and the three of them back further down the row, trying to put distance between us. I wasn't brave. When the going got tough, I was going to make sure I survived.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men finally turn the corner. I wanted to gasp, but wasn't foolish enough to dare. Standing there at the end of the row were honest to goodness knights in shining armour. Each one was clad in chain mail, layers over leather breaches (it was really the only word) and heavy vests. There was protective metal over their chests and elaborate headdresses on their heads. Each carried a broadsword that probably weighed more than I did.

"Witch," they said, staring down the guards. Even their voices sounded strange, accented with something that sounded vaguely Germanic. No, not German. It was Eastern, all right, but too different to be German. It was the teeth that made me think they were more than just lonely men playing dress up. No one had teeth like that nowadays, all crooked and yellow—and was that fungus?

This wasn't good. But the Cabals weren't useless; Grant and Paulson pulled out their weapons and fired quickly. The metal didn't protect them. Two shots. Two dead knights.

"Miss MacArthur," Grant called coming towards me and I hurried to meet him.

Behind them, five more knights emerged. Paulson had already turned around, firing. These knights were closer and moving, and they swung swords around.

The first one caught Paulson in the arm. I don't know how he managed to hold onto the gun, but he did, shooting the culprit right in the visor. The man went down as the other two descended on the trio. Leech was unarmed, but he flung himself at the closest one, barely dodging out of the way of the flashing sword. The two tumbled to the ground, the knight's heavy armour slowing him down. For such a big man, Leech was incredibly fast.

I turned away, not able to watch and spotted yet another group coming from the other side. Because my life didn't suck enough, I now had an entire medieval army coming towards me. I began to cast, letting loose fireballs wherever I could, forcing them back.

"Move out," Grant called. Looking back, I could see why. Even more medieval men began to come around the corner.

"How?" I demanded. I was getting tired—I didn't have the power to fight an army.

He disappeared, right in front of my eyes. Now it was just the three of us—Paulson with his bloody arm, Leech whose powers did us no good, and me, a third-rate witch. Bryce needed to hire better help.

I concentrated as hard as I could and cast, moving one of the storage containers so that it flung outwards, catching the closest group of knights, slamming them into the wall. It wasn't enough to kill them, but some of them were unconscious, and the rest were dizzy at least. There was still the other side to contend with, coming closer and closer as we pushed back into the containers. Leech had picked up one of the swords and was moving it around experimentally. I was more afraid that Paulson would just drop the gun, hands too slick with blood to hold it properly.

Squealing could be heard from the distance and I strained me ears to figure out what it was. Paulson sighed in relief and struggled to stand up right. "Just hold," he whispered, more to himself than to us. "Just a minute more."

More shots and then the gun fell down, empty and useless. No longer scared, the knights advanced. There were about ten of them—and even with Leech's sword, there was no way we could take them.

Sometimes, you were just in over your head. I cast a lightning bolt at the closest one, but that didn't stop his friends from advancing. There went the last of my spellcasting ability. I was actually amazed it had lasted that long.

Around the corner a black car appeared, knocking the knights over like they were tinfoil bowling pins. The sounds of crunching bones and metal hitting metal filled the air. But the car held. The best money could buy was quite a lot. Paulson didn't need to hurry me into the vehicle. I was opening the door even before it had come to a stop.

The two men followed me and Grant slammed the gas before the door had time to close. He was reversing, the way in front of him cut off by the storage container I had moved.

There was nothing I could do about the men, so I took Paulson's arm and began to take a look at it. Blood began to coat my fingers as I muttered a healing spell. I was only barely starting to recover, but the cut wasn't deep and the sword hadn't punctured anything too vital. My spell would slow the blood and knit the flesh back together enough; Paulson would be able to fight back if he had too.

I jerked forward as Grant slammed on the gas, speeding us through the tightly packed warehouse. I could hear parts of the car being scrapped off as he turned too close to the sides, but I wasn't going to complain. I just wanted to get out of there.

The door was already in pieces from where I assumed Grant had driven through. The knights were dropping behind, unable to run quickly under fifty pounds of metal. We passed through the doorway and were gone.

"So...what's going on?" I asked, hoping for some answer.

From the front seat, Leech replied. "I think it might be a time tear."

Paulson laughed outright and even Grant cracked a smile. The younger guard replied, "They don't exist."

"So I imagined the old-fashioned knights? Or do you see them too?" I demanded. That shut him up. But Grant actually had a good point.

"They could have been men in costumes, for all we know. Time tears are the stuff of legends, Miss MacArthur. They don't actually exist."

I leaned forward until I could look at Leech. "But you think it is?"

"It was different from anything else I've ever seen," he said. "And I could feel her inside standing just beyond. It was...incredible. I've never felt that before. It was...I think it was a time tear."

"Okay, then. Even though it's just supposed to be theoretical, you do have an idea how to fix it, right?"

"Theoretically. Plus, she already seems to have half-closed it."

"Okay..." My mind tried to come up with a plan. I longed for Savannah, or even Bryce. They would have figured something out in an instant. But everyone else in the car seemed content to wait while I figured the situation out. "So at least we know what it is, and that Savannah doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Tonight..." I caught Grant's eye and knew that wasn't happening. "Tomorrow we'll get Bryce to arrange a much larger..."

"Task force. Team. Army," Paulson supplied.

"Right." I ignored the fact that bringing in extra help might be impossible if he wanted to keep his sister's involvement a secret. I would deal with Bryce later. "And then Leech can experiment until we get her out."

Silence descended on the car, thick and suffocating. Leech turned to stare out the window. "I can't do that, Gillian."

"It's a necromantic portal, isn't it? I can't close it."

"I'm not..." Lecch turned around to face me. "I'm not quite the necromancer you think I am."

Paulson snorted.

"You see dead people. What other kind of necromancer is there?" I demanded.

"Bryce didn't tell you?"

That was cowards way out and it made me furious. I hated the defeated, half-hopeful tone; I hated it about me. I wasn't about to give anyone else a break. "No. You get to tell me why the hell you can't close a stupid portal. Shouldn't that be easy?"

"You actually have to be quite powerful to close a portal another person opened," Leech explained. "But I...I'm not necromancer anymore. The only thing I can still do is talk to the dead. Everything else...I just can't do."

"Anymore? You can't stop being a necromancer."

"You can if Bryce wants you to." He said it reverently, resentfully, and their relationship suddenly seemed more like a reluctant apostle to an angry god. All the generous favours Leech had done suddenly seemed more like duty than charity. "There are ways."

"Unnatural ways," Paulson murmured.

Ways that were apparently an insult to necromancers. I had never heard of anyone quitting being a necromancer, though I understood why you would want to. Necromancers went mad. Not some of them—all of them. The luckiest ones made it to sixty and kicked the bucket before it got too bad. There were horror stories about teenagers foaming at the mouth, talking to people even other necros couldn't see, but I wasn't sure if they were true or not. No matter. It was an undeniable fact that all of them eventually lost it. That was the price of seeing those in both worlds. Eventually the barriers became too thin and you were swept away.

But to stop the power...I knew you could be blacklisted. I wasn't sure how you would go about doing that, but I knew it could be done. And then the spirits wouldn't talk to you at all, even if you asked. That didn't mean they couldn't talk to you if they wanted to annoy you. But that didn't sound quite like what Leech was talking about. All his power, gone. That sounded much worse than blacklisting.

"Can I do it?" I demanded. Someone had to help Savannah, after all. "Even though I'm a witch?"

"Time tears are things of legend. I don't know what will work and what won't. You might be able to—I don't think they're necessarily necro magic so much as they are bad magic."

"All right then. I'll try and close it tomorrow." I settled back into my seat, plan finally decided on. Who cared if it was only half-formed and rested solely on me, who could mess up walking down the street? Someone had to do it and I was the only option.

"We're going to take you back to home," Grant said to Leech. "If you don't mind."

Leech shook his head and we drove the rest of the way back in silence.

...

We got back and entered the house silently. Paulson informed everyone that Bryce was still on the roof and then Grant headed up there to provide a report. I followed Leech into the kitchen and pulled up a chair at the island while he defended himself against an invisible foe. Savannah wasn't content to yell just at him, and soon Leech was turning to me, repeating her request that I say the communication spell.

But she must have taken out all her frustrations at being left out of the fight at him. When she spoke to me, she was clearly excited.

"How many people do you know who have been in a time tear?" She would have been squealing, except Savannah Levine was too badass to squeal. Still, she was doing a fine approximation.

"Only you," I smiled. "I don't know how you do it."

"I'm amazing," she agreed. "You think you can get me out?"

"I have no idea. Hopefully. Preferably before someone really creepy comes through."

"Did I ever tell you about the time that the werewolves thought they'd unleashed Jack the Ripper?"

I shivered, finding it much less cool than she did. "Did they really?"

"Fuck, no. It was really just some pathetic, power mad sorcerer. Elena tore him in half."

Elena was a werewolf, one of the only females of her kind. Though I wasn't sure—keeping track of Savannah's supernatural contacts could have been a full time job. There was just so many of them. Hell, she babysat for werewolf twins. How many people did that?

"Creepy."

A printout out that had been left on the kitchen counter finally caught my attention. It was just a short article, nothing particularly special. Twenty-one year old Tia Anderson had been dropped her off Friday night at her house after a party and hadn't been seen since. Police were assuming she had never made it inside and were urging anyone with information to call the toll free hotline. They said nothing about the blood on the stairs. No one would ever find her—her parents would never know.

I made it to the bathroom—barely. All of Leech's unique cereal recipe came toppling up in piles of mush. I curled up on the floor; I lacked the energy to pick myself up. The tiles were cool, soothing against my head. I didn't cry. My eyes dripped a little bit, but it wasn't the sadness that was destroying me. Months of keeping my distance had paid off. But I couldn't get off that floor—I was pinned there by the repressive guilt. I could have done something. I should have done something.

Savannah's voice was in my head, trying to tell me it was just a human and anyway, it hadn't been my fault. Just a human...just a witch...just a little girl...I wanted to scream, tired of hearing the same crap my whole life. She wasn't just anyone. Why couldn't they see that? She had been—they were right. What did it matter what she had been? She was dead.

I was lying there, trying to cry and trying not to when Leech entered the room.

The big man picked me off the floor and held me, like I was a breakable little doll. H was nice and warm, something solid to cling to. He held me loosely—no pressure—and stroked my hair as I shook.

"She was your friend?" he asked.

"Like a sister."

And that's when I started to laugh.

I wanted to stop. Hell, I tried to stop. I just couldn't. Because it was too funny, oh so funny, how this always seemed to happen to anyone I gave a damn about. Hadn't I even tried not to care about Tia? I had kept everyone at arm's length for years now and look how well that had turned out. Pathetic, is what it was.

"The bulimia routine again? Doesn't the witch have any other tricks?"

I ignored Bryce, but at least he wasn't showing concern. I couldn't have handled that at all. Leech was saying something, telling him to be more sensitive, but I didn't listen. I just clawed my way out of Leech's arms and back in front of the toilet before the second wave of nausea hit. As I leaned back I could hear Leech's soothing voice, promising it would get better. That stopped my laughter.

Because it didn't get better. I was living proof that in only ever got worse.

But you didn't survive by leaning back and letting men try and comfort you. I knew that too well. Instead, I wiped my mouth and asked Bryce: "Is there a reason you're here?"

"You have to tell me how you want to handle this mess with that girl. Because the cops might want to question you. And then you have to research something that actually doesn't exist."

I started to get up from the floor. Leech helped me when I stumbled, but I pulled away quickly enough. "All right. About Tia—"

Bryce interrupted. "Change first. And brush your teeth. I'll talk to you after."

At least I hadn't got puke on my shirt.

...

I apologized to Leech, who waved away my concern as I played my part of penitent child fairly well. But it didn't seem that he minded much. Guys tended to like that about me. I let them play knight in shining armour all the time. I made a good damsel in distress—no one ever believed I could help myself. Not that anybody had actually been able to save me, but that was a whole other problem.

Once that was done and I had slipped on dry clothing, I went out back to find Bryce. There were a lot of other decisions that had to be made about how to proceed and clearly I wasn't the one who should be making them. When it came to my life, I needed to not be consulted in the proceedings or it would just get ugly.

Bryce was sitting in the gazebo beside Grant as Paulson looked over their shoulders at the computer in Bryce's lap.

"Looking at porn?" I called. "How professional."

Paulson blushed, Grant backed off and Bryce nodded. I was glad he understood—I was fine. Without preamble, he turned the computer around. "Those men that attacked us yesterday? You know how I said they were familiar but not Cabal? I was wrong. They were Cabal. From fifty years ago."

He showed me a picture of a Cabal squad, like the one we had seen yesterday. The photograph was grainy and underneath was the date March 1956.

"That's...not good," I finished.

"Two full squads, twelve men in total, went missing seven months after this picture was taken. My great-grandfather accused the St. Clouds who denied all responsibility. They searched for years, but eventually concluded that they must have just gone rogue. No one ever saw them again. It became a Cabal urban legend."

"Twelve-Thirteen," I blurted out. The old story was familiar to me, my father having whispered it to us one night when mom was out. She hated Cabal stories. But my father insisted we know. Squads twelve and thirteen had been out on a routine (only the Cabals) robbery of some kind. People said they had overstepped their boundaries, had taken what hadn't belonged to them and the demons had punished them, sucking them down to the very depths of hell. Apparently hell was my house. That didn't surprise me at all.

"That's right," Bryce agreed.

"My Dad always said the Nasts killed them and hushed it up, so they wouldn't tell what they had stolen."

"If that were true, I would know. They never got to their destination. They were on their way there before they disappeared."

"Well, that suggests the time tear theory is partial correct at least. Leech is already started looking into it. He said he'd call around, too. I'm going to go help him."

Bryce nodded, closing the laptop and sticking it under his arm. I followed him back to the house, waving goodbye to the guards. He lowered his voice and said, "I'm going to call Sean, though I'm not going to tell him about Dad. He'll...he won't like breaking necormatic law. Will Savannah be okay with that?"

"Yeah. He was actually the one I was supposed to get to help us."

"He knows...is nicer to, more lawyers than I am. He'll be able to sort it out for you." He stopped walking just before the door. "There's one other thing you should probably know."

I waited but when he wasn't forthcoming, I prompted: "What?"

"I tried..." For a moment he seemed almost embarrassed and when he explained I understood why. "I tried casting a communication spell on Savannah while you were gone. It didn't work."

I knew better than to ask why he wanted to talk to the 'she-devil'. Instead I focused on the implications of what he had just said. Savannah had only been able to cast the communication spell on me once I had cast it on her, but he should have been able to cast it on her, just like I was doing. He must have been far more powerful than I was, but he couldn't do what I did.

That left the question of why she could talk to me? I wasn't powerful at all, not for a supernatural. Though in the last few days I had started being a little more impressive than usual. Still, I was never going to be as powerful as Savannah or even her brother. It was a fact of life.

When a witch had her first menses, her powers increased tenfold and on the eighth day a ceremony was supposed to be performed to cement this power boost. The only witch I knew when I had my first period was my mother—and there were plenty of other reasons for hating that bitch, so sufficed to say, she had simply not bothered. The day passed and I was left weak and pathetic and even Paige's later intervention hadn't been able to restore that.

It had been a major problem in my relationship with Savannah. She couldn't seem to accept the fact that I was so extraordinary weaker than she was. If I was going to help her with magic—and I was going to because Paige hadn't bothered teaching me for nothing—then I had to be powerful to do it. We had even done a few spells to try and boost my power. Nothing seemed to help—nothing but adrenaline.

"Do you—that's weird," I said finally. "So you it's either you or it's me."

"We can still be friends with benefits," he assured me and I found myself smiling despite myself. "Ask Sean to cast tomorrow. See which one of us it is."

I nodded and he opened the door, letting me slip under his arm before following me inside. Leech was already spreading out the books. It looked like Bryce was going to be helping today. Research party. My favorite.

I just had one more question... "How did you know her name? Tia, I mean." I asked. Because I don't think I had ever told him her full name. I could barely say it to myself.

"I knew the address. It didn't take long to find out who lived there. You told me her first name, it wasn't hard to figure it out."

"Don't—" I swallowed down the nausea. "Please, don't go poking around in my life. I really don't...please, just don't."

"Mysterious is not a quality I like in a woman."

There was a threat there that was unmistakable. "Ask and I'll tell you. Just don't go poking blindly around."

"So you can lie to me?"

"I won't lie. I promise."

Bryce shook his head and sat down beside Leech on the floor. "Surprisingly enough, that doesn't make me feel much better. Just get to work, Pinocchio."

...


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

...

It was dinner before I knew it. Leech and I had compiled a list of theories a mile long. Even Bryce helped research though he soon gave up on reading through dusty books. He preferred e-mailing people across the country, demanding information. Kristof had disappeared into the ghost realm to see what he could find. Savannah was the only one who couldn't really do anything and even she helped out. Leech had to turn the pages for her, but she read through one of Leech's necromancer books.

Everything was still just theory at this point, but Bryce promised a larger force for when we went back the next day. I didn't like the look on his face when he said he would figure out a plausible lie, but I didn't want to push my luck by arguing. With more guards, we would be able to experiment to our hearts content; the men he sent to investigate that afternoon reported that they had found no disturbances. Sean was going to come over tomorrow morning and help me with any problems that would arise from living with a woman who had gone missing. Bryce had arranged for the extra men to come around four. That would give Savannah time to see her other brother—the one she actually talked to—before heading off for the long walk back.

Around eight Leech declared it was time to eat. I brought the books with me and spread out on the table as the two men got to work cooking. That term might not be very accurate. They spent more time making fun of what the other one was doing than actually looking at the food. If I had been planning to eat in the first place, I would have been upset. Though it was fun to watch.

Eventually, Leech presented it before me. I told them the soup looked delicious. Leech said it was pasta, his expression confused. Bryce handed me milkshake instead, which I took gratefully. I was hungry.

"It's an acquired taste," he explained. To my surprise, the two men actually ate their strange concoction.

Savannah chose to make the meal more difficult by nagging me constantly. Apparently talking to Leech and her father all day was not enough for her.

"Ask Leech about the girly looking mugs he has," Savannah suggested.

"You ask him. He hasn't mentioned a girlfriend yet. She probably moved out."

"Aren't you interested in knowing?"

"You trying to set me up?"

Savannah made a sound in my head that actually sounded like a foot stomp. "Just ask. I want to know. Did you know he has high heels in his closet? Either he's got a girlfriend buried under the gazebo or..."

"I'm not asking him that," I snapped. If he wanted to wear high heels, it was his prerogative. Bryce was looking at me oddly and I blushed, embarrassed to have been caught arguing with a voice no one could see. Aloud I said, "I'm very impressed the two of you can cook. Do you do it often?"

At first I didn't think anything was happening, but then Bryce asked curiously, "Are you blushing, dude?"

Indeed, Leech was turning bright red. "Savannah," I hissed in my head. I should have known she wouldn't just drop it. "What have I tried to teach you about manners? You can't be doing that. Fine! I'll ask him. Anything to help you get over your pathetic crush on Adam."

That would shut her up, if only for a moment. I leaned forward on my elbows and plastered a smile on. "Leech, are you currently seeing someone?"

He glanced to his right, at the empty chair we had reserved for Savannah, and the blush deepened. Bryce groaned, clearly unhappy with this turn of events.

"He's a mechanic, single, lonely and prefers brunettes," Bryce said, bored. Leech glared. Savannah cursed as I tried to look innocent. "He'll bring you fresh flowers on Valentine's day, hold the door open every time and carry you over every threshold you find. Etc. Etc."

"How do you make all that sound bad?" I asked Bryce in wonder.

"We all have our skills. Leech's include enjoying long walks by the beach and candlelit dinners, if you're interested. He does heart to hearts and will never forget an anniversary. Unless the Grand Prix starts that day, but then he'll look so pathetic when he begs you to forgive him that you won't give it a second thought."

Leech actually looked annoyed. "Are you going to stop there? You sure you don't want to give a full dating history?"

Bryce raised his wine glass in a mock-apology. "I was just trying to inform Gillian about your more romantic characteristics. Sue me. Fine. You want me to add in some flaws? Let's see...what Leech does wrong with the fairer sex. Nothing really comes to mind, except he couldn't lie to—never mind."

"To keep her?" Leech put down his fork. "Is that what you were going to say?"

Bryce put down his glass and was suddenly incredibly interested in snagging a cracker from me. He had gone too far—Leech's face screamed that—and he evidently didn't want to make it worse. "Forget it. Gillian, don't we have more spells to talk about or something?"

But it was too little too late. Leech was already turning bright red. The stream of Spanish that poured from his mouth was almost too quick for me to understand. I didn't need to hear the words to know what he was saying. 'What the fuck is your problem?' was probably an accurate translation. I caught something about Lucifer which sort of scared me and something about crazy plans, the general gist being that there was a hell of a lot wrong with Bryce.

"Should you stop him?" Savannah asked me as Leech started going on and on about how Bryce's balls were as shriveled as his heart.

"Bryce isn't," I pointed out. It was almost scary how studiously Bryce was not stopping Leech. He must have understood because he occasionally replied in Spanish, egging Leeh on some more, but for the most part he just kept eating as his friend heaped abuse on him.

"Just because he's an idiot," Savannah muttered.

Finally, Leech slumped down and drained the glass of wine. Bryce poured out another glass and the big man drank that too. Only then did Bryce say anything.

"Finished?"

"Yeah." Leech fidgeted. "Um..."

"You just need to get laid," Bryce said.

"Did you hear that, Gillian? He's asking for volunteers," Savannah said.

"I thought older men were your thing." That finally shut her up. Turning my attention back to my less annoying companions, I found Leech in the middle of an apology. Not to the best friend he had insulted, of course, but to me.

I accepted with a smile. "That's all right. Though next time, I might just hit you with an energy bolt to shut you up."

"Like you could," Bryce shrugged. "Energy bolts are sorcerer magic."

Savannah was easily outraged, but for a second I was a little upset too. Hadn't I pushed a demon off a car using sorcerer magic? Bryce had to have—he had seen. If that's the way he wanted to play this, I could go along. Anything to create a distraction, right?

I pushed back from the table, giving Bryce the most patronizing smirk I could muster. He was much better at them, but it was the trying that counted. Sitting up straight, I rotated both wrists, making a big show of preparing for the spell. Bryce didn't flinch—didn't think a witch would dare harm his precious Nast head. I cracked each finger, just for show and then began to cast, eyes never leaving his.

His pasta exploded everywhere; I wasn't stupid enough to hurt a Nast, however condescending he acted. A smile appeared behind the mess of food on his face, but it was gone as he cleaned himself off.

"Holy shit," Leech muttered from across the table.

He looked fine, apart from a few renegade pieces of food that had lodged themselves in his hair. But he was staring at Savannah's chair in wonder. "Gillian, cast something else."

"Why?"

An impatient look and Savannah's own demand that I do so got me casting. I lit up the candle in the middle of the table. Easy witch magic.

"Again," ordered Leech.

I unlit and lit the candle a good five times before he told me to stop, staring at Savannah all the while.

"An explanation would be nice," Bryce said. "Sometime soon, preferably."

"She flickers when Gillian does magic," Leech said. "Every time."

I thought about my increased strength in the last couple of days. I had attributed that to fighting for my life, but what if I had somehow managed to tap into Savannah's reserves? No wonder she acted like she was invincible. If I had that kind of power on a regular basis I would too.

"And he said I was disappearing until you woke up," Savannah pointed out.

"So somehow you're connected to me?" She already thought she owned me. This was going to be a nightmare.

"Because of the portal?" Bryce asked.

I didn't think so. Why would it be me then? I wasn't related at all to her falling through the portal.

If we were somehow connected I would look a little further into the past for an explanation. Back before my father had died, Savannah had convinced me to try this spell that was supposed to boost my spellcasting ability. She was always after me to try and become more like her.

She had discovered the ritual in a book that she had stolen from an old friend of her mother's. That should have been my first warning sign. Eve Levine had been an excellent mother—but she had also one of the most powerful dark witches of her time. Her friends weren't the savory type. The spell needed two witches—Savannah wasn't stingy. She volunteered to help. We thought the spell had been a failure. I was still weak afterwards, with only a minor improvement. But I couldn't shake the feeling that our current predicament fit the desired results rather perfectly.

But despite how eager I was to get back to researching, I was outvoted. Everyone else was tired. Leech banished me from the kitchen and eager to let the two friends work out whatever, I left, hurrying back to the living room. The television bored me and I didn't want to head over to the bar so I made my way over to the pool table.

The feel of the green felt under my finger tips made me shiver, reminding me too much of home. I sighed, feeling the beautiful wood, and trying not to think too much. I barely heard Bryce come up behind me.

"Have you ever played before?" he asked, starting to pull the balls out of the pockets.

"What was that about?"

For a moment he didn't answer, just went on racking the balls up. But finally, he said, "His wife just left him. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"I missed that one. Why was he so mad at you? You didn't sleep with his wife, did you? Please tell me you aren't that cliché?"

"I didn't sleep with Claire," he snapped. "I just knew it was going to happen, he didn't believe me and he's pissed that I was right."

He almost sounded as if his feelings were hurt. That was easy to fix. Picking up a cue from the wall and walked over to stand in front of him. "Speaking of cliché...you wanna teach me how to play?"

Leech came in eventually and told us Kristof had headed off to talk to someone. Now that the thrill of coping a feel had worn off, Bryce challenged his friend to a game. Leech did the gentlemanly thing and invited me to play as well. I was abysmal. Bryce teased me and then convinced Leech to play for money. Bored, I threw in fifty bucks and demanded to be allowed to play. Leech refused, but Bryce insisted. Bryce broke. Leech let me go next. He never even took a shot.

I grinned triumphantly at them as I gathered up the money. Bryce shrugged off the loss with the ease of someone who had money to burn. "A little short for a pool shark, aren't you?"

"Don't worry, Bryce. I could teach you if you wanted," I responded. Leech was still staring at me with an awed, slightly shocked look.

The expression on Bryce's face that made me shiver. But I got back to racking up the balls, offering them a chance to try and win their money back. They didn't succeed.

...

Leech brought the blankets back out for me and wished me good night. I watched him as he left, all broad angles and bulging muscle. I had to admit, the view was nice. And he was nice. He was kind and caring and sweet and vulnerable right now. It would be nice and easy with Leech. I sighed and plumped up the pillow.

"I'm surprised you haven't jumped him yet," Savannah said, polite as ever.

"Because I'm not you. I don't just see something I like and take it."

Savannah's response was mainly a huge guff of laughter. When she finally recovered, she asked: "Why do you never like the nice ones?"

I rearranged the pillows better. "I do so like the nice ones."

"Name one boyfriend, or whatever you call the guys you sleep with, you've ever had that was nice. Or not some sort of freak."

"Just because Jack was..." addicted to heroin "...a loser doesn't mean all my boyfriends suck."

Not that they were upright citizens or anything. Jack had actually been the best, the sort of guy you could bring home to mom, you know, if your mother wasn't an evil slut. Sure, he had been my Hebrew T.A. at the time, and the needle marks on his arm were sort of conspicuous when he wore short sleeves, but he was smart and funny and if the smack didn't kill him, he was going to have a hell of a future. Whatever. Jack and I worked as well as we did because we never pretended to care about each other. We had sex, I passed Hebrew, he had clean needles. Win-win.

"All your boyfriends suck, Gillian," Savannah said, her tone final. "And yet you still don't like the nice ones."

Because they were boring. But I didn't say that, because I did so like the nice ones. I had turned over a new leaf, once Jack had dumped me. Yeah, it sucked getting dumped right before mid-terms by a junkie you were enabling, but I was over it. It had been good for me. I was now free to go forth and find a nice, normal boyfriend.

Like Leech. I could do Leech.

"Have you been around here a while?"

"Dad kind of wanted to stay around Bryce. Not that he would say anything, but I could tell. So we stayed in the corner and talked. I wanted to say goodnight before I took off."

"That was nice of you. Did your Dad tell you what's up with Leech? Because Bryce said his wife just left, so if you wanted, you could have him on the rebound. Or I could have him. I haven't decided yet."

Savannah was not so easily deterred. "Gillian, what are you doing?"

"Going to bed?" I said as innocently as I could.

She didn't buy it for a second. Good for her. "With the evil half-brother. And his best friend. Which, by the way, is probably a really stupid idea. And please don't try and deny it. I'm not an idiot. You have shitty taste in guys."

"I thought you liked Leech."

"It's Leech you're more interested in?"

"Yeah." But I had to force the word out. There shouldn't even be a contest. I hated myself, for almost falling back into the old patterns, with the insults and the hate. I'd done that too many times. I could choose the right thing, the good thing, for once. Why couldn't I?

Savannah wasn't an idiot. But I broke the communication spell before she could continue. I didn't want to hear it. I knew what I should do. A good girl would go to bed. Savannah would march down the hall and tie Leech to the bed. And me, Gillian MacArthur? I decided to take a long, cold shower.

The hallway was dark and I moved slowly through it, careful not to crash into anything. I couldn't deal with the both of them at the moment. Not when Savannah had ruined my beautifully constructed denial.

That's when I smelled smoke.

It was my duty to go investigate. It wasn't like I planned for it to be coming from Bryce's bedroom.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: This chapter contains graphic sexual content. You have been warned (there's also Nazis and drugs and religion, so hopefully I can offend everyone at the same time!)

...

Chapter 10

...

I opened the door on my right, the room right beside the living room. Bryce was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, still dressed and looking like he wanted to be left alone. Of course he didn't want to be near me. But he could just deal with that because I wasn't going anywhere. That was definitely one of my cigarettes in his hand.

"Hey, Bryce, smoking kills." He looked up with a bored expression. "Cancer. Eats away at your lungs. Any of that sound familiar, you hypocrite?"

"Actually it does. Someone really wise must have said that."

"And someone really dumb must have repeated it to me about a hundred times."

He didn't offer an explanation, just held out the cigarette. "Is that you're way of asking?"

"Yes, please. Asshole."

I hurried over, snatching up the cancer stick. The headache that had been plaguing me all day slowly receded.

"That's the last one" he informed me, holding his hand out to, expecting it back. His eyes were on the tiny television that was across from the bed. It was some cheap late night horror movie and his point was obvious—five dollar special effects were more interesting than me. It didn't bother me, not enough at any rate.

I sat down on the bed, a wide gap between us. We passed it back and forth as the movie played on. Every so often I would point out an inaccuracy, like the way blood really sprayed when someone's arm had been ripped off. He didn't say anything in response. I was horribly jealous. It took a lot to help me forget—and I had tried everything in the book. He could turn off everything at will. It wasn't fair.

Eventually, there was just the two of us and nothing left to smoke. It was only than that I crossed the divide between us. Goosebumps appeared on my arms; they hurt. I hated being so freaking cold all the time. I watched as my hand moved towards him, coming to land gently in the crook of his arm. His skin burned underneath.

"Did you really think I couldn't cast an energy bolt?" I asked him.

His eyes didn't moved from the television screen, but a soft chuckle escaped him. "No. That hailstorm was terrifying. But I like pissing off my sister."

Thought so. He picked my hand up, devouring it with his much larger one. Did he know he was giving me an invitation? Or did he merely want to get rid of me? It didn't matter what he wanted, not really. He wouldn't say no. Even if he hadn't told me outright, I still would have known. It was the delicate way he touched me, the way he wouldn't quite meet my eye.

With a sigh, I leaned forward, capturing his lips in mine. I was lonely, he was here and he never had a nice thing to say. It was that simple. He didn't even hesitate. His left hand snaked around my waist, pulling me on top of him. I came willingly, deepening the kiss as he dragged me into his lap. Our hands detached and he brought his to tangle in my hair as I wrapped an arm around his neck.

Should there have been fireworks, sparks or the hundred other different clichés that people have come up with? Maybe, but I liked what I actually felt. Warm. Wet. I could taste the last lingering bit of the cigarette. He could have been anyone—no, that wasn't right. He was too demanding, to insistent for me to think that. There was no doubt it was Bryce Nast who was kissing me until my head spun. No doubt. But just because my head, and my stomach, and other parts of my body was getting lost in the feel of him, didn't mean my heart was. And it was better this way.

I ended up straddling him as our tongues fought and he fisted handfuls of my hair, dragging me closer still. He was so much bigger than I was, but that would probably be more fun.

My fingers ran down his chest, searching for the hem of his shirt. We broke apart as I tugged it up over his head and dropped it onto the floor behind me. To my surprise, there was actually a bit of fine hair that I hadn't noticed before—I had figured Bryce would be vain enough to wax, but apparently not. My fingers traveled over the planes of his chest right before I pulled back.

I wanted to see those tattoos up close and personal and he just watched, bored but not inclined to stop me. There was one on each side, two figures surrounded by foliage and geometric patterns of some kind. On his right, there was a fearsome skeletal creature that had to be Death. On my right, there was a woman—clothed, surprisingly enough. It was the woman who caught my attention

It forced me to pull back further as I asked: "Bryce, is that Mary?"

"Mary...the stripper I bought for my brother one year? Mary the daughter of our biggest electronics supplier? Mary, Austin's secretary? Mary—"

"Mother of God," I interrupted.

"Please tell me that doesn't offend you. Because it's my body and I know I meant it respectfully so you can—"

It was pretty easy to figure out that with Bryce, to shut him up, all I really had to do was put my mouth somewhere within the vicinity of his, which somehow ended up with his lips on mine and him not ranting anymore. But I was still curious, so when we broke away for air, I asked, "You're religious?"

"What's with that tone?"

"Bryce, you ruin people's lives for a living. You don't get to be religious."

"Judge not, and you shall not be judged: condemn not, and you shall not be condemned: forgive, and you shall be forgiven," he whispered as his hand slipped under my shirt, running along my spine, up and up. Sitting on his lap got a little more uncomfortable when he realized I wasn't wearing a bra. I wasn't wearing panties either, but he'd find that out later. "Luke 6:37. So if someone forces me out of bed in the middle of the night, as long as I forgive him, it doesn't matter if I kill him afterwards."

So that was Bryce logic. Creepy. Luckily, there was something much more interesting to talk about. There was some sort of Celtic design just above the top of his pants, dipping under the waist of his jeans. A lot further down I bet.

"Subtle, Bryce," I teased.

"Take off your shirt and maybe I'll tell you the story of that one later."

"You still owe me the story of the whip."

"They go together," he promised.

"Then maybe you should tell me both."

"Later," he murmured as he kissed along the neckline of my shirt, to the very tops of my breasts. Sometimes it wasn't so bad that shirts didn't fit me properly.

"All clothing stays on until you tell me the story," I threatened. It wasn't so much that I cared to know, even though I was sort of interested—I wanted to see which one of us would win this kind of face-off.

"I think I could work around that."

I couldn't help it. I giggled. Kissing him slower this time, I threatened, "I could go help Leech get over his wife and leave you to jerk off in the shower if you don't tell me."

"You wouldn't."

"I don't bluff, Bryce. I'm a compulsive liar, but if I'm crazy enough to say it, I'm crazy enough to do it. Now, do you want to tell me one little story or do you want me to leave?"

"I would swear to God you're telling the truth," he said, staring at me like I was nuts. What else was new? "You're very good at that. Scary good. I'm impressed. But you're not going to leave."

"You sure about that?" He couldn't be. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if I didn't get my way; he couldn't know. "You willing to risk it?"

"I've risked a lot worse and I'm still here." We glared at each other, daring the other not to back down. Slowly, Bryce began to chuckle. "I think I'm going to tell you anyway. You might actually appreciate this story."

He lay back down on the bed and somehow managed to get us both over our sides, trapping me between the wall and him. His right side was up in the air, the black ink melting into the half-darkness. He propped his head up with his left arm and reached out the right to play with my hair. I began to trace the outline of the tattoo. If my hand happened to descend downward with the lines...well, I think that was the point.

"That was the first tattoo I got. I was seventeen and my dad felt guilty he was in Europe for my birthday and said I could have whatever I wanted," Bryce began.

"He let you get your first tattoo down there?"

"His condition was that it had to be someplace Grandpa would never see. Since that defeated the whole purpose...I had to make a statement some other way."

At least he hadn't tattooed his penis. My mother had once had a boyfriend who had done that. He delighted in telling me how he had been fully erect the whole time it was being done. Luckily, Mom walked in the room and even she realized that one was not a keeper.

"Why couldn't he see?"

I was more focused on undoing the button on his jeans then my question. I was about to tug down the zipper when he spoke.

"Gillian, you said you wanted to hear the story. So keep your goddamn hands to yourself for now." I pouted, but there were ways around everything. I wrapped my leg around his hip and then leaned over and placed a feather light kiss on his shoulder. He didn't mind that, so I explored his chest with my mouth as he talked.

"Grandpa's got tats too. Two of them. One reads: Wir fürchten Gott."

"We fear God," I translated. "I speak German. And Spanish, by the way."

"You understood Leech? Shit," he muttered. "His face is going to be priceless when I tell him. Anyway, that's what the one on his left arm says. It sort of doesn't go well with the one on his right. He got them both when he was fifteen when the Fatherland annexed Austria. A great day for the Empire." Bryce couldn't help but mock. "They'd immigrated a long while before but he still had some relatives pretty high up—anyway. He doesn't mind the quote. He actually still says it sometime. It's because of the other one that he doesn't like ink much."

He was cupping my ass now, holding me tight against him, giving me almost no room to manoeuvre. But he didn't stop talking and stranger than that, I didn't try and stop him. I even asked:

"What's the other one?"

"What do you think?" I didn't know much about history, but that seemed like an easy one. "After the end of the war he forged some papers and got sent to Nuremberg because he wanted to see the lawyers there in action. I think he would have gotten it removed afterwards, but that would be admitting he shouldn't have gotten it in the first place. No one's seen him without his shirt since. I never even knew he had tattoos until he saw mine."

"After you purposely had it done so he wouldn't see? Smart Bryce."

"I didn't mean to show him. It was an accident. I was playing around in his pool with my cousins and then someone dared Joey to dive off this tree, so of course I had to do it too. And when I got out of the water, my trunks were half off. Grandpa saw. He has been reading by the pool the entire time, but after he saw me, he got up and went into the house. No one even noticed, except my Dad who told me to get the hell out of the water and go apologize. I was half out of the pool when I saw Grandpa coming back out. He was holding a bullwhip in his hand."

I snorted. "Seriously?"

"Fuck, yeah. You should have seen this thing. He had a whole collection of weapons and stuff but I never knew he knew how to use them. It was ten feet long and could break the sound barrier if you cracked it right. And he came out of the house, waving it like an expert. My dad started screaming at me to get the fuck out of there so I ran like hell and my dad started trying to calm him down but Grandpa was just waving the whip and running after me..."

Bryce dissolved into laughter at the memory and I found myself joining in. It amused me, picturing him running away from the crazy old man. I was a horrible person. Sue me.

When I stopped giggling, I had to ask, "He didn't manage to hit you, did he?"

"If he had I'd have a fucking ugly scar. Though he wasn't just trying to scare me. He doesn't pull that shit. If he'd have caught me, he would have fucking done it."

"And so you took that charming family memory and had it permanently embedded onto your skin?"

Bryce grinned and informed me: "Not one other person in my family has a tattoo. They hear that story, and they're too fucking scared. I did it to show him I could."

"I bet that's why you do a lot of things. Really, Bryce, why didn't you just have 'fuck you, Grandpa' put on instead? It would have captured the sentiment just as well."

He began kissing me again, as he said, "I like being subtle."

I giggled. "You're about as subtle as dynamite. So why the eagle?" He seemed much more interested in tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh, so I figured it out myself. "It's not an American eagle, is it?"

"No."

It was mostly just a grunt, but it was an answer. Some sort of Germanic emblem or something. A sign of respect and fear all tied together that he would never admit to. "That's actually kind of sweet."

He pulled back quickly and sat up, leaning over me. I think he was actually offended because he sounded more pissed than usual. "I am not and never will be sweet. Take your fucking shirt off already."

"Did I hurt your feelings?" I laughed, sitting up. "That's too cute."

"Shut up, Gillian."

"Aww...poor baby," I said, leaning over to kiss him. It didn't long before he was responding, tongue just barley brushing my lips as I shivered. It wasn't hard to find his hands, to bring them to the hem of my shirt. "I'm sorry. However can I make it up to you?"

"You could start by just being quiet."

Quiet was probably the exact opposite of what I was in bed, but I didn't say that because he finally got the damn hint and took off my shirt. He smirked and I _think _it was in appreciation, because his eyes darkened and then I was somehow on his lap again, but I didn't really care how.

Warm arms wrapped around me as he kissed me. As his palm skimmed my sides I couldn't help but giggle. It tickled. He snorted against my mouth, but then his hands were on my tits, surprisingly rough for a white-collar worker, but I wasn't complaining, just arched forward a little bit more and didn't bother keeping my moans quiet.

I don't think he minded.

Bryce was busy with my chest, fingers playing expertly across the soft skin, brushing over sensitive peaks until I gasped aloud. Only then did he decide to put his mouth to good use, moving it downwards, kissing and teasing, dipping lower and lower until he could replace his fingers. The concentration he placed on the breasts he had constantly mocked was impressive.

He began to suck, tongue tracing swirls against my skin as moisture pooled between my legs. His mouth was so warm that I felt the cold finally receding. Truly hot for the first time in a long while, I tightened my thighs around his hips even as my fingers laced through his hair.

"You really are a whore," I gasped as he switched his attention to the other side. He was too talented not to be. "God, Bryce, I'm so fucking wet already."

I think he liked that, because his response was to scrape his teeth across my nipple causing my fingers to curl so tightly in his hair I was afraid the frail bones might shatter. I thought my whole body might shatter. It's why I was here, after all.

I kissed him, tongue searching for something. They were sloppy kisses, wet and hungry. Our chests were pressed tightly together and it was driving me crazy, being already so sensitized to his touch. His hands were groping my ass, urging me into him. He was so hard under me—it was almost as good as being wanted. I quickly ran a hand between us, looking for his half-opened pants.

He didn't seem to like that. Of course not. This was a competition and as a Nast he had to win. But when he began rubbing me through my shorts, I decided I should just let him have his way. And when his flingers slipped under the baggy material to my dripping core, I just congratulated myself on my excellent decision making skills. But he just barely brushed my lower lips, more content to play along the inside of my thighs than the heat between them.

Tease.

"Come on, Bryce. Don't you want to feel how hot I am for you?" I kissed him again, teeth catching his lower lip. "Don't you want to make me scream until I can't talk anymore? Don't you—"

My hips jerked as he thrust two fingers inside me, quickly, shocking me into silence. Then his thumb found my clit and I really ran out of words. The pace he set was blistering, and I loved every second of it. As I writhed on top of him, Bryce placed one hand on my hip to hold me steady. I could feel the vibrations of his chest when he demanded in a low voice:

"Why don't you tell me what you want, Gillian?"

"I want—" If I knew that I would not be in this room right now. "I want you to fuck me, Bryce. Have your wicked way with the wicked witch."

"I'm going to get you my pretty," he mumbled with a tiny smile.

"And your little dog too," I gasped as his thumb proved quite talented. A little more inspired, I said: "I want you to taste me, I want to watch you between my thighs, licking my pussy until you make my eyes roll back. Would you like that?"

"Bet you taste delicious."

"Like sugar and spice, even if I'm not nice." He wasn't nice, not all. He managed to hit right there inside me, while his thumb grazed the swollen nub and if felt so good that my brain shut down. That didn't stop my mouth.

"I want your cock buried deep inside me, fucking me over and over. God, Bryce, I want you to fuck me. Fuck me until I can't talk, can't stand, can't think. On the bed, up against the wall, as hard as you can, I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me come until I can't anymore and then I want you to do it again. I want all that, Bryce. I want you like that because I'm greedy little bitch."

I whimpered as he withdrew his hand, my pussy throbbing, my knees weak. Fucking bastard. His hand on was on my face, blue eyes watching as I tasted myself on his fingers. Neither of us were good at sharing—our tongues tangled as we fought over my sweetness. I think I may have bit his finger at one point.

But then he was pushing me down, back on the bed. It was easily enough for him to pull off my shorts as he said, "You're not the only one who can be greedy."

He spread my legs further apart, manoeuvring himself between them. Cold air on hot flesh made me tremble, but watching Bryce watch me and then lick his lips almost made me come right then and there.

He placed the gentlest kiss on my knee and my hands found my tits, nipples painfully tight, and I fondled them as his tongue came ever so close to the heat between my legs.

"I'm not going down on you," I blurted out. I've done a lot of stupid shit and this was near the top. Why was I trying to be honest just then?

He looked up, looking at me like I was insane. "This is _me _going down on _you_," he explained. "I'm not sure how much clearer I could make this."

"I just thought you should know before you did it, I won't return the favour. Ever. So don't even bother to ask."

"That's stupid hang up to have."

It wasn't a hang up. I had given more than my fair share of blowjobs; Bryce had probably received way more than his fair share. He probably had someone on the company payroll for that express purpose. So to keep things fair he was never going to feel my lips on his cock, no matter how tempting it was thinking of him trembling as I licked and sucked and swallowed...right. I was not doing that. Ever.

"Whatever. Just so you know."

"Fine," he agreed. "I liked it better when you were talking before."

"Did you? You liked it when told you how I wanted to feel you—oh my god, Bryce."

I should move to New York.

Moving across the country to get tongue fucked like this on a regular basis actually seemed like a perfectly rational idea. Either I was really easy or he was really good at this—probably both, actually. It didn't take long before I was coming apart between his bed and his mouth. His hands were on my hips, even as they tried to buck off the bed, holding to me to him until I think my eyes really did roll back.

It was only after I stopped shaking that he finally stopped lapping up my juices, placing a goodbye kiss just below my navel.

"You owe me a story," he said as he climbed over me.

"Hmmm?"

My vocal chords would recover soon enough. Meanwhile my hands fumbled with his pants as I tried not to notice his arms on either side of my head. It wasn't fair. Corporate lackeys shouldn't be in that kind of shape. Distracting me with muscles that my fingers itched to touch, that I couldn't stop imagining straining as they held me close—right. His pants.

"I'm going to let you decide how I'm going to fuck you," he whispered, tongue tracing my earlobe, my body responding to him again. "But you owe me a story."

Finally, that stupid zipper came undone and I slipped my hands inside his shorts. Wrapping one hand around him while the other pushed his clothing off, I began to pump, slowly, just a little bit roughly. When he groaned above me, I could feel it everywhere.

"Deal," I whispered. So what did I want? What did he want? "I bet what you really want is to fuck me up against your best friend's guest bedroom wall." It was the only thing I could think of that would be disrespectful enough to please him.

He kissed me to seal the deal and then I rolled out from under him so he could sit up to properly removing the last of his clothing. He was much better looking naked—and I wasn't just saying that because seeing his dick unobstructed made my pussy twitch. He was just more impressive now that I could run my hands over the muscles of his chest, his stomach, his thighs...

Bryce groaned under me as I ran my hand along his shaft. I pushed him back on the bed and I climbed over him, legs on either side of his hips. I may have teased him for a bit, guiding him to my entrance, then moving the head to my clit, rubbing the aching flesh until I was gasping.

"I'm all hot and bothered at just the thought of you inside me, Bryce, but I think I like you best like this. Like a toy, only here to please me. A fun little game for us to play."

Why did I want him angry? I don't know. But I said it just because I knew it would piss him off.

He didn't disappoint, sitting up, pressing closer, eyes narrowed. "A nasty game, for a nasty girl." His hands were on my tits again, rougher than before, and I could only moan in agreement. His voice turned harsh. "Enough with the fucking foreplay."

So that's why I wanted him mad.

Without further preamble I sank right down on his cock.

My muscles clenched around him as he hissed, fingers digging into my hips.

"I'm going to hell," he gasped. "Or jail."

"Bryce…" I think I was going to tell him to shut up. But his hands were back on my breasts, cupping the soft flesh, and I just stopped thinking, my hips grinding against him instinctively, needing more...more.

He really didn't it like it that much, having me on top. Not that he was complaining at all and he did seem to be enjoying himself just...he wasn't completely into it. I leaned down to kiss him and he ended up growling against my lips, "For the record, I'm no one's toy."

"Are you saying you can't help me? I guess I could try doing this by myself."

I was such a bitch; I pushed him to the bed and rose right up off of him. With a bit of manoeuvring I managed to be kneeling beside him on the bed. He might have killed me then and there, but he was in shock, a little bit, I think. He could only watch as I arched backwards so he had a perfect view of my breasts, my stomach, my pussy. My fingers reached between my legs, sinking into my heat, slowly moving in and out, teasing myself, not bothering to keep quiet at all.

"See, if you were my whore, you could be doing this right now, Bryce," I explained, a bit breathlessly. "It could be your fingers inside me, touching me, driving me crazy. Feeling how wet I am—"

"Gillian—"

He knelt in front of me, arms around my waist, hard against my stomach, but I stopped him with my fingers to his mouth. He obediently sucked and when my hand was clean, I leaned up to kiss him.

"Don't you wish you'd been good, Bryce? Or that I wasn't so...what did you call me? Nasty?"

"Fuck this," he muttered.

I don't know how he did it. I suppose the fact he was twice my size and I was rather distracted helped. Somehow, he managed to get his hands on my hips and then he literally lifted me up as he stood up.

Without even thinking about it, I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, pressing myself against him, as he walked us towards the wall.

"See how loud you can make me scream," I begged.

He didn't answer, but it didn't matter. Not when my back hit the wall with thud, as he pressed into me, hard enough that I gasped. Excellent.

He was inside me then, even if I wasn't sure how he did that, either. Years of practice, I suppose, but I didn't care, not really, because it felt so fucking good.

His fingers were digging into my ass as he drilled into me, hard thrusts that had me babbling, shit I don't even think made sense, just words, really, hot and please and fuck and who knows what else. But it was even better than before, just this mindless beautiful heat that was taking over everything.

I arched my back and—_oh_—that was just perfect.

"Don't you dare," he hissed. "You're _my_ toy now, Gillian, and you're not coming until I say so."

I wanted to protest, because I was annoying that way, but I could feel the vibrations of his voice everywhere and I was sort of helpless to resist. So I bit my lip and I swear I tried to be good...

..but the words just sort of spilled out. The nastiest, dirtiest stuff I could come up coming out of my mouth, but the funniest part was what got him the worst was me saying his name. His breathing picked up as I moaned. That was too easy. So I took it and ran with it, as he thrust into me again and again.

I whimpered his name over and over, not caring how I hit the wall, only that I was so fucking hot and I hadn't felt this good in a long time. He did know how to do hard. Over and over and then finally—finally!—he said it.

Voice hoarse in my ear, but just as arrogant as always:

"Come for me, Gillian. Come on my cock, screaming my name."

So I did as I was told.

When I clamped down on him, he exploded inside me, fingers definitely going to leave bruises on my ass. I didn't care. I kissed him as he shook, stepping back until we were back on the bed, me on his lap once more.

"You and your mouth," he gasped, kissing my hungrily.

"I think you like my mouth."

"I'd like it a lot better if—"

I silenced him with a kiss. "You're so predictable, Bryce."

"I resent that."

When I caught my breath, I climbed off him and glanced around the room. Only then did I notice the TV was still on. I was trying to stand on my trembling legs, but Bryce grabbed my wrist. "This is the best part."

He made himself more comfortable, utterly unashamed. He was gorgeous in the half light, silvery gold, all lean and glistening with sweat. His eyes were glued to the TV and he didn't invite me to stay. But he left space on the bed and I figured it was the best invitation I was going to get.

I lay down in front of him, not believing that he had seen this crap before. These made for TV flicks all seemed the same to me. But it was sort of unintentionally very funny. We watched for a while as the hero tried to decapitate some sort of vampire-zombie hybrid. But the creature escaped and of course the hero had to follow it into the dark warehouse. Was it the left? Was it to the right? Behind him? Above—

I almost jerked off the bed, but a large hand held my waist. I turned onto my back and hit Bryce in the arm, even if it didn't stop his laughter. I wasn't scared. I just hadn't expected lips on my neck at that particular moment.

"You all right, there?" he asked, still laughing.

"Real mature, Bryce. How about a warning next time?"

"You need a warning? Gillian, that's what the sex was."

His hand absently traces the contours of my ribs and I found myself shaking my head, but smiling a little, as he rained kisses on my face. His hand was moving over my body, ever so slowly. I sighed happily, but then he whispered, "Right after he kills her, she full on blinks. Watch."

I didn't bother sitting up, just turned my head a little. Sure enough, even though zombie-vampire lady was split in two, her eyes shifted as she lay on the ground. I found myself grinning at him as he chuckled quietly. It made me blurt out:

"I don't hate you, you know. I know I act like it and most of the time I think it, but I don't. I...I don't." I was a little surprised to find that the words were true. Truer than I had thought. At least, they felt true. And that was the best I could right now.

He chuckled. "Good. I'm trying to only sleep with woman who dislike me, not hate me."

"I don't think I dislike you either."

"That's a bad idea, Gillian." He was talking quietly now, so I had to strain to hear. "This whole mess is a bad idea."

"We can't hear Savannah bitch and complain until we fix her and once we do you won't have to listen to her. Though she really is never going to let me live this down. Ever. From now on, every time she almost gets me killed it's going to be, you slept with the evil half-brother that one time when my life was in danger. It's going to be a nightmare."

"You really are freak, MacArthur. Tell me my story now."

"What kind of story?" I asked as my hands began wandering his body.

"Not that kind," he laughed. "I told you a traumatic childhood story. Think you can trump it?"

I could, but I wasn't going there just to win a stupid game. I tried to find a roughly equivalent memory instead. "Okay. When I was twelve my older sister was dating this older guy who was into some...things that I pretended I didn't know about. He was a jerk," I added. I hadn't liked him at all but Dana insisted he was a good guy at heart. "I mean, really, twenty year old guys should not date fifteen year old girls."

Bryce starting chuckling, kissing me again.

"They don't date teenage girls, they fuck them."

"She wasn't like that." Not that she was a virgin or anything but... "Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Sorry."

"Like I was saying, he was into some kind of shit. So he asked her to hold some of his things at our place for a while. She agreed, forbade me from going into her dresser and that should have been that. My mom never cleaned our room, said she wasn't our maid, but she was always snooping around my sister's stuff. So she finds the drugs and flips out. I get home before Dana to find her screaming, and by the time my sister gets back she's lost it. She starts shouting, about how Dana's a druggie slut. 'How come there's crack in your room?' she demands. And Dana just stands there and says...

"'That's meth, Mom. Don't you know anything?'"

Bryce tried to pretend he wasn't laughing. I knew he would get it.

That's why I went back to kissing him, long and deep and when he tried to pull away I just sort of naturally didn't let him. I turned on my side and soon found myself on top of him as we moved together lazily, hands exploring one another. I could feel him hard against my thigh. Was he waiting for an invitation?

I moved my mouth along his jaw as he said, "I would like to point out that if we did continue this game I would be the winner, hands down. The fucked up family award is mine." He pretended to wipe away a tear. "My Daddy's dead and Mommy never calls."

"My Daddy slit his own wrists and my Mommy called me a fucking cunt." That wasn't exactly true—Mom never insulted me. But I wasn't about to forget the things she had said to Dana. I leaned in close and kissed him. "I win."

He pouted. "Stop being so competitive."

With that he rolled us right over so that I was on my back. He was between my legs now, so fucking close...

"Make me."

Bryce was up for the challenge.

...

When I finally managed to catch my breath I found myself partially on top of him, but I don't think I could have moved if I had wanted to. I didn't. I wanted to just close my eyes and drift away.

"You're not staying here," he whispered underneath me. "The bed's too small."

"I'm not leaving." I looked up at him, in the pale moonlight, grinning. A little taste of his own medicine wouldn't hurt. "Compensation, Bryce. Remember? I think I've earned this bed."

"I think we're even. In fact, I pretty sure you owe me."

The fact that he hadn't been keeping an exact score surprised me, but I was happy to hear he hadn't. I was way too far ahead to hope to pay him back. That was beside the point. I felt too good to move. "I'm not leaving. You can take the couch if you're so desperate. Walk past Savannah naked, see what she says then."

"Might shut her up. Or I could drag you to the couch."

I wasn't about to say he wouldn't dare—that was the fastest way to get him to do it. Instead I just said lightly, "Or you could call Leech over."

"Are you trying to suggest a threesome?"

I just meant that the big man would find it easy to carry me to bed. But now that Bryce had given me the idea, I couldn't help but grin. They were both attractive and the two of them together would tear me apart. "I'm in if you're in."

"That is surprisingly less repulsive than it should be," Bryce said with a shrug. He laughed and relaxed, shaking gently under me, hands absentmindedly rubbing my arm. His touch was soft and my eyes fluttered closed. "He wouldn't go for it—he still in mourning over Claire"

"Was it really that bad?"

"He just didn't expect it. Though he should of. She taught the second grade and was dying to have kids. But Leech...he's a necro. It...it gets bad in his family and he didn't want to risk it. It's like a fucking genetic disease, even if he can't tell her about. So he didn't tell her. Now he's in shock that she left."

"Oh." I thought it over for a little bit. "I think you were right. He should have lied. I can't believe you didn't try and explain it to her behind his back."

"I didn't realize how serious it was. By the time it occurred to me, she wouldn't believe a word I said. It was not a fun conversation." He thought for a moment. "Don't tell Leech about that. He would kill me."

"You're telling me secrets now? What's next? Are we going to cuddle?"

"Go to hell, Gillian," he muttered.

Actually, in order to fit on the bed he did have to wrap himself around me pretty tightly. I didn't say anything. I didn't doubt he was capable of carrying me back out, if the inclination struck.

...


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

...

I woke up alone, thank goodness. I was a little sore, but nothing I would admit to. Plus, it was a pleasant type of soreness. My head didn't hurt, so it was definitely better than a hangover. My stomach wasn't churning, which was what usually happened after I took an assortment of things I didn't know the name of. This was definitely the best way to wake up after a night of having fun.

My clothes were actually piled beside the television and I stared at them for a long minute, unsure what was going on. It was only after I had padded over, shivering as I stood naked in the cool morning air, that I saw why Bryce had decided to be helpful.

On top of my shirt lay a hundred dollar bill.

I bit back the smile and grabbed my clothes. That asshole. The thin fabric did little to warm me up, but at least I was dressed enough to slip into the shower. A hundred bucks was a hundred bucks, but I wasn't going to walk through the halls waving it around, either. I tucked the money into the waistband of my shorts. He could afford it.

Bryce was going to have to work a lot harder than that to get me to stop liking him.

Finally, I ran my fingers through my hair on the off chance I would see Leech—I didn't care how I looked for Bryce, and he would probably tell his friend, but I didn't want to ruin Leech's opinion of me any faster than I had to.

So of course he was standing just outside the door.

"Good morning," he said. He had just come in from a run, but stopped and just stood there, looking at me funny. I hoped Savannah wasn't around just yet—she wouldn't believe I honestly hadn't meant to do what I had done. Not with the evil half-brother. I just...hadn't wanted to stop myself.

"I finally got Bryce to give up the bed," I said with a smile. It was none of his business, but I was used to instinctively hiding the things I wasn't proud of.

"That must have been a tough fight."

"I fight dirty."

He nodded, but didn't let me leave. Dying of embarrassment, he choked out: "I thought witches had silencing spells."

I blushed three shades of red.

Busted.

"Sorry."

"Yeah." He looked at me a moment longer, his face redder than mine, and then he turned and walked away. "I'll make you breakfast. Oh and Savannah wanted me to tell you she was most displeased."

"Savannah needs to get laid."

I called the understatement of the year down the hall. I didn't wait for Leech to respond, just headed towards the bathroom. That was unnecessarily awkward. If we had been making too much noise he should have just hit the wall to let us know. We would have kept it down, or at least remembered to use a spell of some kind to keep quiet.

Thinking of spells reminded me that I had to prepare that stupid brew this morning. Supernaturals were lucky in that only the really stupid ones picked up anything from unsavoury sexual encounters—STIs or spawn were both preventable either through supped up immune systems or magic powers. As long as you remembered to take it within...however many hours.

Not that it really mattered. I hadn't had my period in four months and there's no way Bryce let himself catch anything.

A glance in the mirror showed my back was much less bruised than I thought it would be. I was impressed. No obvious trauma to my person, a pleasurable soreness between my legs, a hundred bucks...I had surprisingly few regrets about last night. Life was less sucky than I thought it would be. Cool.

There was the whole awkwardness with Leech, but really, served him right for trying to be nice. Nice guys finished last—or were forced to listen as their friends got laid. I was only helping to teach him an important lesson. And he hadn't been willing to lie. He hadn't—why the hell hadn't he made her stay?

It was none of my business, so I got into the shower and stopped thinking about Leech.

As the hot water hit me, I remembered that Savannah and Bryce's father, Kristof Nast, scary, evil, Kristof Nast, had could have heard me. No sooner had I started to freak out, then I remembered that they were supposed to leave right when I went to bed. Besides, Savannah knew me too well. Chances were she had taken one look at my retreating back and known exactly how I was going to spend my night. Good. It was one thing to fuck a guy so the world could hear—it was another to do so while his father did.

I really hoped I hadn't managed to offend Kristof somehow; if the sorcerer got it into his head that I was somehow defiling his precious baby boy, I was going to be in a lot of trouble. Hopefully, he wouldn't care what happened to his son. Cabal father's rarely did.

It was only then that it really occurred to me that the Bryce I had slept with last was also Bryce Nast, as in Cabal sorcerer, as in...had bodyguards around him twenty-four seven.

Oh my god.

Grant and Paulson.

Paulson.

Paulson who could hear everything.

Oh my god.

He was going to think I was trash. Or that I moonlit as a sex phone operator. I could barely remember half the stuff I had said last night, but I knew that it hadn't been lady-like at all. It had been downright nasty, but it was the sort of stuff you said in bed when you were too horny to realize how stupid it sounded in real life. It wasn't the sort of stuff you wanted anyone who you weren't actively sleeping with to hear.

Not only had it been crude but it had been private. It hadn't been said for an audience. It was like someone had been watching the whole time. I felt almost nauseous.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, my hair dripping water everywhere, I found Bryce coming out of the kitchen. He must have gone running with Leech, because his shirt was soaked with sweat, his face flushed. With half a smirk, he said, "Sleep well, Gillian?"

I slapped him.

He tried not to smile, but I was too pissed to care that I was amusing him. "You prick. How come you didn't say anything? How come you didn't warn me that you had your entourage listening to us? You should have told me."

Bryce stopped looking pleased with himself and started looking nonchalant instead. "I did say it was a bad idea. But don't worry about it. Leech is a good guy. He would have tried to tune us out—"

"I'm talking about the Expiscor you have hanging on your every word. My every word. Seriously, Bryce, how could you not warn me?"

And because I wasn't going to cry in front of him, I got the hell out of there. Without looking back, I hurried to the living room, sitting down in front of the television. Concentrating completely on the remote and not the humiliation I was feeling, I didn't bother looking up when Bryce came in the room.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him hovering by the side of the couch for a moment before sitting down on the couch, careful not to touch me. I said nothing. He sighed. The only reason I didn't tell him to just fuck off was that he actually seemed less than sure for once. That's why I settled for stony silence.

"I'm sorry."

That was something I would have bet good money I would never have heard him say, not sincerely at any rate. It didn't make me feel better; I didn't answer.

"Gillian, could you listen to me first? Please?" He put his hand on my leg and I would have pulled away, but I think I really would have burst into tears. "Gillian?"

"I'm listening."

"Paulson wasn't listening last night. He's listening now, guaranteed. But he wasn't listening last night. The second you pulled off my shirt, he turned off his powers for the night and started doing perimeter checks the old-fashioned way. I guarantee it."

"How can you be sure?"

"It's in his contract. He has to listen to everything I do at all times, but I got Grandpa to stick in a clause that he has to turn it off if I'm with a woman and clothing comes off. Since his soul hasn't been sucked into hell yet, I can promise he wasn't listening. Okay?" I thought it over. Not fast enough. "He didn't hear anything you wouldn't want him to. I promise. But if you still don't feel comfortable with it, I can always have him killed."

"Really?"

"Just give the word. But you should know that if I did think he had been listening I would have already killed him."

I brushed away the tears, turned my head and gave him a tiny smile. "I just...I can't believe I forgot about him."

I went back to pretending to watch the news, still not entirely comfortable with the situation, but—and wasn't this the weirdest thing?—trusting Bryce. It wasn't hard to imagine him having Paulson killed just because he had overheard something Bryce had forced him to listen to. The true test would come later, of course. Would Paulson still be able to look me in the eye? I hoped so.

Bryce didn't leave. "Anything else you want to yell at me for?"

"Not in particular. No."

"Nothing?"

"No." This time I smirked. "Though you did underpay me."

"Mental," he muttered, before getting up and walking back out of the room. I giggled and this time I actually cared when the news came on. More election crap—Super Tuesday hadn't solved the problem at all. They would still be arguing in November.

Bryce came back in the room, carrying a bowl of cereal and a glass. He thrust the cereal at me, with a muttered, "Leech," but held the glass tightly in his hand. The sugary mess was even stranger looking than yesterday, but I ate it anyway.

"Aren't you going to drink that?" I asked. Bryce was staring at the glass as I scooped up cereal.

"It's for you."

"You brought me milk, too?"

"Not quite."

The way he said it told me exactly what it was. "I would have taken care of it. Actually, I would prefer to brew it myself if you don't mind."

"Too fucking bad. I'm not taking chances. Do you have any idea how much my illegitimate brats would be worth?"

"Probably more than you do. I pay attention to Cabal business; I don't get distracted screwing New York."

"I can do both." He thrust the glass in my face. "Drink up."

I took the glass and then stood up, placing both it and the bowl on the table instead. Bryce half rose from the couch, but I stopped him, coming over and straddling him. My arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

"No sense in wasting it. What time did you say your brother was coming?"

"An hour." Bryce's hands slipped to the curve of my ass. "Maybe longer."

"Good," I said, pulling off his shirt. He silently laughed as I went to kiss him. He was a little bit sweaty from his run, and his lips were a little chapped, but that really didn't seem that important. I pressed against him because it felt good. Since I was a dirty whore and everything, I might as well enjoy it. I began kissing him harder, lips traveling along his jaw. He whispered into my hair:

"Gillian?"

I grunted my response, having more important things to do than answer properly. His hand started creeping under my shirt, fingers dancing against my ribs. His voice was quiet, much gentler than I thought it could be when he asked, "Dana MacArthur was your sister, right?"

I froze, my brain unable to process what he was saying. He shouldn't have known about that. He shouldn't—how the hell did he know? And what right did he have? The Nasts had killed her. He was not allowed to say her name.

I sprang off of him, knocking into the table, spilling cereal and potion and old magazines and remotes. I didn't care. I had to get away from him. Because he wasn't supposed to know. He couldn't.

"Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me!"

"Gillian—"

"It's none of your fucking business. I don't owe you anything, anything at all, so just leave me alone!"

Suddenly he was in front of me, hand on my mouth, arm crushing me to him. I was so shocked I didn't even think to fight back. "Shut up, Gillian. Shut up or Leech is going to come in. He hates taking me on, but he won't stand by if I'm making a girl cry, so shut up. He could fucking kill me, so please, just keep quiet."

We stood in the middle of the room for a long second, surrounded by strange liquids and soaked papers. When Leech didn't burst through the doorway and kill anyone, Bryce relaxed and let me go.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

An explanation? Just like everyone else. We're so sorry for your loss even though we had written her off as a lost cause a long time ago. Why don't you tell us how you feel? Share, Gillian, we're here for you now that you've already lost everything. I was snarling before I knew it.

"You have no right. No right at all. You don't get to kill someone and then feel sorry about it." My lips were dry and I desperately licked them, trying to will the salvia back.

"You have got to be kidding me," Bryce snapped. "Christ, Gillian, I was barely out of high school when that happened. I didn't fucking do anything to her."

"No one ever did."

"I'm not apologizing for something that I am in no way responsible for."

"Don't use words you don't understand, Bryce. You might hurt yourself."

"Get over yourself, Gillian." Then his voice got quieter, softer. Like he remembered I was breakable all of a sudden. I wasn't. I had been to hell and I was still here. I kept going back and I was still here. Everyone I ever loved, everyone I met; they were dead, but I was alive. He couldn't break me. "Listen, I didn't realize the two of you were related until last night. I didn't mean to bring it up. I should have known—"

"You think you know? What could you possibly know? She's dead and everyone keeps acting like they knew her. Well, they don't. She was my sister. The rest of you can just go to hell."

Because just because I had a dead sister didn't mean that's all I was. It didn't mean there was something wrong. Just because Dana had runaway and never come back didn't mean I couldn't be happy...I had to get out of that room. Bryce didn't know anything about fleeing. There was no need to run when you snapped your fingers and everything hurried to fix itself. He caught my arm, just the same.

I don't know why I was crying. I was ashamed and scared and all alone but I had been this way for most of my life. Dana was mine and he had no right. But I let Bryce lead me to the couch because I really did have no one else.

Dana's story eventually ended with me. And no matter how hard I tried, it wasn't a happy ending.

I had been twelve when Dana died, killed by a vampire who was trying to make the Cabals pay, because no one had bothered to step in when Thomas Nast ordered his girlfriend killed. My Dad had worked for the Cortezes, but that didn't matter. The vamp was looking for Cabal runaways—he didn't get the chance to kill her right away, but she never woke up from the coma he put her in.

Twelve had been a bad year for me all around: my sister was dead, my mother had refused to go see her own daughter while she was in a coma, my father had arrived too late to take me anywhere but to the funeral. I was mad at the world. That's when Paige first taught me magic, taught me things I had no idea existed. The knowledge saved me, pulled me back from the brink. It offered me a goal, something to strive for, something to live for that wasn't just hate. The magic was enough. But no one believed me.

When your sister died, when you stopped talking to your mother, when your father was never around, you were supposed to have something wrong with you. At least, according to Paige and Lucas. They paid for the therapist—they were still paying for the therapist. I couldn't afford to tell them to stop. I needed them too much.

I could admit I wasn't always the most stable of people. I liked to party (hard, because why would you waste your time being cautious about it?) but a tendency to do drugs did not mean there was something wrong with me. If drugs and magic sometimes caused a few unexpected problems, I had only ever hurt that one guy and he had been a jerk anyway.

Maybe I wasn't what you would call normal. Maybe Paige wouldn't have been so adamant about making me talk about my feelings if I had cried just a little harder when my dad died. But even thought I loved him, he hadn't been around me for years. There was only so upset I could be. I cried for Dana instead.

"You could have just said you didn't want me talking about your sister," Bryce said as he handed me the box of Kleenex. "It would have been easier."

"Shut up," I muttered. "The fact that you are still trying to bring it up? Not the smartest thing you've ever done, Bryce. I clearly don't want to talk about it." I blew my nose. "How the hell did you even figure it out?"

He was silent for a long time. So long I thought he had decided to drop the conversation entirely.

"I bet you think we deserved to lose Joey," he said eventually. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. I know everyone else thinks we brought it on ourselves, and you have a better reason than most. But...Joey was my cousin. And _he_ killed him. I know all their names."

I finally looked up at him. Bryce was staring somewhere over my shoulder. I didn't attempt to deny it—I thought the Nasts deserved whatever happened to them. If anything, I thought they should suffer more. And I couldn't say I was sorry, because there wasn't any sympathy left in me anymore. I didn't know what to say, so I took his hand instead.

"You were there, weren't you? Right on the scene." He had been standing nearby when the vampire succeeded in capturing the prized target, the grandson of a Cabal CEO. "Paige and Lucas said you and Sean were with them."

"Did they tell you I saw it?"

I shook my head and he laughed, this terrible sharp sound that made me cringe.

"Well, I did. I saw…I saw it all and I didn't do anything. I watched him kill my cousin and only when it was over was I able to open my mouth. All I did was tug on my big brother's shirt. I couldn't even make the words come out. So I am the fuck up you think I am, Gillian MacArthur. Aren't you happy you were right?"

"You're not so bad," I whispered.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say and you've given me a hell of a lot of options. Bet you think I'm sorry, too."

"You are. I saw your back, remember?"

"Joey hated being called Josef. Thought it was pretentious. It would have bugged the hell out of him."

"Right." Because you weren't being sentimental if you were being annoying. Annoying was better than caring. Anything was better than caring. The world was out to teach one lesson and that was it—everything and anything was better than giving a damn. But I never could stop myself. "You're not a monster, Bryce."

"Yes I am. I killed your sister, remember?"

I shook my head. He didn't get to take credit for that. That was all on me.

Neither of us was sure what to say next, so we settled into silence, studiously not looking at one another, though his thumb was tracing patterns on the back of my hand. There wasn't really anything to say. I wasn't good at silence. Maybe that was why I always had to fill it with lies.

"Why are your hands so callused?"

"What?"

I turned his hand over in mine, comparing the two. His was twice as big, but both were wrecked beyond belief. "Your hands are almost as ruined as mine. I did gymnastics for years. What's your excuse?"

Bryce ran his other hand through his hair. Looking up, I noticed he still didn't have his shirt on. Sometime during the night, I had managed to claw his shoulder. I couldn't believe he hadn't said anything. "I play the guitar and a bunch of other shit. Over the years it just sort of got worse."

Of course, he was some kind of musician. I was that predictable.

Leech appeared in the doorway. "Bryce, Sean's—what the hell happened to my table?"

"I'll have Paulson clean it up later," Bryce said, standing up. "What about Sean?"

"He's on the phone." Leech looked between the two of us, not buying the story for an instant. But he didn't push. Maybe my red-rimmed eyes or the rather desperate look on Bryce's face told him it wasn't a good idea to challenge us right now. There was a phone in his hand and he held it out. Bryce took it, grabbed his shirt, and didn't look back.

"I'm going for a run," I muttered.

"There are people out there who are trying to kill you," Leech reminded me.

"So?"

"Gillian—"

"Maybe I'll get lucky." He wasn't impressed. He was also a giant. I sighed. "I'm going to go change. I'll meet you in the kitchen, okay?"

He nodded, still reluctant to leave me alone. I pushed past him to the bathroom. Once the door closed behind me I went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. Because if I looked like nothing had bothered me, maybe it hadn't. Right?

...


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

...

Leech was sitting at the kitchen table talking to a woman I couldn't see when I walked in. Bryce was still on the phone. Leech told me, "Savannah wants to talk to you."

Rolling my eyes, I cast the communication spell. Instead of the tirade I expected, there was a moment of silence. Then: "I should have told him not to talk about your sister. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." I wished she hadn't heard my little outburst, but it was too late to change that. "You're not mad I slept with him, are you?"

"I don't care what he does. That includes whatever you want to do to him." The understanding tone could only last so long. "What could possibly possess you? He's evil, remember? And not just baby-evil like you usually deal with."

My ex-boyfriends were not baby-evil. That was giving them too much credit. They were losers, not evil. Bryce wasn't either—he was just a jerk. "He's...I don't know. It was fun. I didn't actually give it much thought."

"How terribly irresponsible." Savannah finally started laughing. "Do you ever?"

"Do you?"

"Touché."

Bryce interrupted our conversation. "Something came up and Sean couldn't come until the afternoon, so I told him to talk to the police without bringing you into it. We'll still go this afternoon as planned. We just have the morning to ourselves now."

I broke eye contact and pretended to be fascinated with the countertop. I had to admit, it sounded fun. As long as he kept his mouth shut. Leech was scooping up a spoonful of cheerio-rice-krespie-fruit loop-y goodness and carefully not looking at either of us. I glanced up again to find blue eyes still on me.

I jerked my eyes away when the voice came through my head. "You haven't checked my grimoires yet," Savannah practically shouted. "You could do that. Get Leech to take you to the L.A. house. They might have something useful."

I repeated her idea aloud with a slight modification. "I need a ride to Savannah's house. Are either of you free?"

"I'm not driving you to Portland," Bryce said. "We have time but not that much time."

"She sort of has a place in town," I said, not really wanting to explain it further. "It shouldn't take long, especially the way you drive."

"Gillian?" Savannah was blaring in my head. "The plan was to go with Leech."

As Bryce went to tell Grant and Paulson to follow him to the address I quickly supplied, I told Savannah, "I don't see what's wrong with this plan."

"I won't tell you where they are," she threatened.

"Under the mattress. And in the ceiling of the closet."

"Fuck you." Savannah started laughing. "How the hell do you know that?"

"You told me on your birthday. Remember? Maybe you don't, you were a little smashed—whatever. I do listen when you talk."

"Really?"

"Sometimes," I shrugged. I stood up, snatching my cell from the table. I had been there barely three days and already I was taking over Leech's house. Bryce got up as well, picking up the car keys and telling Leech to tell Sean to call him on his cell.

She sighed. "Gillian, even if we ignore your completely fucked up dating history, screwing the evil half-brother is not going to end well. You do know that, right? And I can't kick his ass for hurting you when I'm incorporeal."

"You worry too much," I said, before I said goodbye to Leech. It was pretty sweet of her to pretend she cared. "Thanks for trying."

"I don't know why I bother."

Neither did I.

_..._

We did get to our destination ridiculously fast. More impressive than the fact that we got there alive was the fact we didn't even get stopped. Cabal influence? Supernatural power? Sheer dumb luck? I didn't ask, just asked that he take the corners at less than sixty miles an hour and ignored him when he insisted it was perfectly safe.

"I still don't understand how my sister has a place in town," he said, climbing out of the car, looking at the rows of houses in the pretty little development with distaste. "How could she afford a place like this?"

The white house with the bright green door was a little quaint, especially for Savannah. What were the odds that Bryce was going to flip out when I told him? I had no idea, but what was the worst he could do? He might leave me behind, but I could see Grant convincing him to pick me up fairly quickly.

Grant and Paulson stayed in the car, prepared to stand watch. It was still too weird thinking that Paulson was listening to everything we said, but I pushed that thought out of my head. Because it was really too creepy to contemplate.

"It's from her secret lover who is magnificently rich," I told Bryce. After I had taken down the wards and cast the highest unlocking spells that existed, I glanced over to see if he believed me. He didn't. Opening the door, I added, "Or Sean's paying for it. Because he feels horribly guilty about the crap your family throws at her."

"He bought her a house?"

"So she has a place to stay when she visits him." I pointedly ran my hand over one of the pictures, coming away with a layer of dust. "She only uses it sometimes. It's more symbolic than anything."

"Sean's always been an idiot," Bryce said. "It's nice enough, I guess."

It was gorgeous. Savannah really did have an eye for color. With Sean's money, she had fixed the place up so it was completely unique. Maybe some of the pictures were a little more morbid than I would have liked, but since I didn't have to live there, I just found them slightly amusing.

It wasn't a big house—Sean wasn't that generous. The kitchen and the living room were practically on top of each other. But it did feel like a home, even with the smell of dust in the air. It was the sort of place where you could see people sitting around together, eating and laughing with each other. Like those families you saw on TV and stuff. A home, with pictures on top of the mantle and magazines on the couch and even fake plants in the window.

"Is that you?" Bryce asked picking up one of the pictures. I cringed, knowing exactly which one it was. "How old are you there?"

"Fourteen."

"So you've grown a whole two inches since then?"

"Shut up, Bryce," I said, trying to grab the picture of the Sabrina School out of his hand. He just held it up out of reach and I couldn't exactly jump for it without completely humiliating myself.

"Why all the girls?" He quirked an eyebrow. "And Lucas Cortez?"

I hit him. Perv. "It's the Sabrina School reunion. It was Paige's wedding gift from Lucas. A get together for all of us." He looked at me like I had switched to Greek. "It's...Paige tutors, sort of, a bunch of young witches, mostly online. It was the first time we met face to face." Remembering the meeting, I smiled. "I punched Savannah in the face."

Bryce laughed. "Why?"

"I don't remember," I said honestly. "I'm a whole lot weaker and I think she made fun of me a little too often...or something. But after we finished clawing at each other, we were inseparable the rest of the trip. She said I hit okay considering I was three feet tall. She called me Gidget the whole time. But I called her Big Foot, so it was okay."

Bryce shook his head, then put down the picture. The others were mostly of Paige and Lucas and Adam, one with the werewolves, another with me, and then one with Sean. Bryce started at that one a little longer. "They don't look anything a like."

"They have the same eyes," I said. It was the first thing you noticed about either of them. "You don't even have that in common with her."

Bryce didn't answer, his attention focused on the corner behind me. "She has a Gibson LSG double-neck?"

He was already lovingly stroking the guitar, a look of pure adoration on his face. He reverently lifted it up and sat down in one of the armchairs. A second later he was carefully strumming.

"She bought it for her boyfriend—who she then dumped on Valentine's day." And she said I had problems with guys. "She doesn't actually play."

"Obviously. It's horribly out of tune." It wouldn't be once he got through with it. He was already plucking strings, listening, turning screws. "Do you know how expensive these are? Why the hell would she buy it and then just let it sit here? That should be a crime."

"It's just her way," I shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sure you have one."

Bryce looked up, almost sheepish. "I have three. Dad got one signed by both Ronnie Wood and Charlie Watts."

"Not the other two?"

"That goes without saying." He must have realized just how hard I was rolling my eyes. "You're supposed to get something big for your eighteenth. Plus, Dad just wanted an excuse to talk to the Stones."

"Talk to the Stones," I muttered. Like it was easy. "When you're finished making love to Savannah's guitar, could you come upstairs? I need you to get the grimoires."

Because I couldn't reach the ceiling like Savannah could, even with a stool. Bryce didn't have to know that. He put the guitar down reluctantly, making sure it was secure in its stand before following me up the stairs, occasionally making fun of Savannah's hair in whatever picture caught his eye. He didn't say anything about the art though, just stared at a little bit. If this was incredibly weird for him, I didn't ask.

When we entered her bedroom, he did say, "Fucking awesome."

Savannah had outdone herself. She had attacked the walls with paint, where the weird and morbid met color and whimsy all with actual talent. My favourite part of her room was the ceiling—a black and white spiral that made my dizzy just looking at it. I don't know how she managed to sleep in the room. It was that distracting.

A quick survey of the strangely decorated room led me to the corner by her closet. A plaster statue sat on top of a low stool. The piece was light and I quickly pulled it off, handing the stool to Bryce.

Pointing out the closet, I said, "One of the panels in the ceiling lifts up. The grimoires should be there."

Bryce nodded and disappeared inside while I began lifting the mattress up. It was difficult to pull out the grimoires while holding up the heavy mattress, but I managed. The two grimoires I removed didn't look very promising, but I also got my hands on Savannah's spell journal, which would be interesting to read even if it wasn't particularly helpful.

"Bryce? How soon do we have to get back to Leech's?"

"We have until four. You want to go get lunch?"

"Not really what I was thinking about."

He came out of the closet, carrying the stool, to find me lying on the bed. My legs were crossed, my fingers slowly working on undoing the buttons of my shirt, my shoes already off and then Bryce put down the stool and climbed right over me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me. As we kissed, he somehow got his hand on my shirt and managed to undo the rest of the buttons. It was only as we tried to pull off the unnecessary clothing that I remembered:

"Paulson."

"Close enough," he murmured.

I laughed and clarified: "Could you just...tell him to move? Please? It would make me feel a lot better."

"He's not going to use his powers."

"He says he's not going to use his powers. You don't know for sure."

"This is one of those irrational things that you just aren't going to let go, isn't it?" Bryce asked with a sigh. I could only nod.

"Fine."

He rolled off me and pulled out his phone. I held my shirt closed and moved to the window where he eventually came up behind me. An arm wrapped around my waist and I leaned back into Bryce as he talked to the men in the car, ordering them to take a drive out of Paulson's range. "Good?" he asked as the car disappeared around the corner.

"I could be better," I admitted. Turning around, I threw my arms around his neck and he easily caught me as I jumped up. It wasn't very gentle, but it was fun, and I shivered in the air as his hands held my bare legs. I was sucking on his lower lip when he moved too far to the right, knocking into the bed causing us to come crashing down.

Bryce swore as I landed on top of him, but I couldn't stop giggling, even as I went to kiss him again. As I went to shrug off my shirt, I realized, "We can't on her bed. She really will never speak to me again."

"She's only my half-sister," Bryce said. I hit him on the back of the head and he sighed. "Fine."

He picked me up, even as he kissed me again. "The books," I reminded him, scrambling out of his arms.

"Tease," he said, pulling me to him.

Only he didn't kiss me like I had expected him too. Instead, his eyes stayed above me. Bryce even pushed past me, eyes on the window. Annoyed, I followed him over to see what had ruined the mood so completely. Once I had looked out, I stopped thinking Bryce was overreacting.

Nothing good had ever come out of seventeenth century soldiers walking down the street.

"They might not be coming here," I said weakly.

"Yeah and I want Savannah sainted," Bryce snapped. "I'm calling Grant and Paulson. We're getting out of here. Now."

I hurried to the closet and grabbed a bright pink backpack that was clearly Savannah trying to make a statement. Shoving the grimoires inside, I watched as Bryce grew more and more upset with his phone. "It's busy. It's not allowed to be busy."

It didn't matter if that was just his Cabal arrogance or the actual company rules. As I frantically pulled on my shoes, I told him, "They can take care of themselves. I'm more worried about us."

Bryce quickly demanded: "Is there a way to sneak out of here?"

I almost laughed as I rushed down the stairs, buttoning my shirt as I went. "This is Savannah we're talking about. Of course there's ways to sneak out of here. How much time do we have?"

The door burst opened, revealing a man dressed in a vaguely familiar grey uniform. It took me a second to place it—Confederate grey. I screamed, mostly because of the shock. Bryce was a little more efficient, casting a knockback spell. Sense returned to me and I quickly slammed the door shut with a fast breeze, followed by a whole lot of locking spells.

"Did he have a musket?" I demanded.

"Later. How long will that hold?"

"It'll hold unless they counter-cast," I promised. No sooner had the words left my mouth than the sound of breaking glass tore through the house. "Not the windows—she's going to kill me."

"If we survive," Bryce pointed out. When he gestured for me to get on with it, I realized I should maybe point the way out of there.

We hurried through the kitchen and I unlocked the backdoor. It led out to a smallish porch, which had about thirty steps leading down into a ravine. It was breathtaking on a good day—today it was merely convenient. Not even ancient gun-wielding maniacs could see through trees. I hoped.

"I can't believe Sean," Bryce said as we ran down the porch steps. "This place is gorgeous."

"Heaven forbid he do something nice with all his blood money," I shot back.

Bryce snorted as we reached the bottom of the stairs. Maybe while running for our lives wasn't the time to be bantering, but at least this way we could pretend we were going to be fine. There was a path just a little ways in, but I stopped just behind the first large clump of trees. I was hoping they would stop pursuit when they realized that there was no one home. Bryce was quietly cursing as the branches continually whacked him.

But he was still on his phone. "Grant always answers," he said, half in shock. "Do you think...?"

"I'm sure they're fine."

Then we both fell silent. On the porch a man in a grey uniform appeared, two others flanking him. It was an old uniform, there was no doubt about that. The weapons they were holding were muskets, bayonets still attached. I couldn't believe it. It looked like something out of a Mel Gibson movie. Except real.

"Grant wouldn't leave me," Bryce hissed beside me. Was he trying to persuade me or himself? "Fuck. I think they're spreading out."

"We should move."

Bryce didn't come when I tugged on his arm. Instead, he began to mutter under his breath. It was a spell I didn't recognize and I looked around, trying to see what he was attempting to do. The spell sounded vaguely familiar, the translation for the Hebrew words coming easily to me.

Power? Crush? That sounded ominous.

A shot rang out through the air. I looked around, peering through the leaves to find out the source. It happened again, and again and finally I realized that it wasn't a shot. The thundering noise wasn't from a gun.

Bryce was trying to bring the house down.

The window frames were cracking. Part of the paneling began to splinter. The roof was trembling slightly and shingles slowly began to fall. A window shattered somewhere in the front and the sounds of hundreds of tiny objects falling to the ground reached us. The men scrambled around, trying to identify the source. A few more streamed out of the house.

"Stop it," I cried.

Bryce looked terrible. He was paler than normal and shaking a little. There was no point in killing himself for a mere distraction, because he wasn't going to be able to bring it down fast enough. Plus, Savannah would kill me if I let him destroy the house. I grabbed his wrist and he snapped out of it.

There was a whizzing sound and I glared at Bryce, trying to make him stop. But he wasn't casting anymore. Instead, he blinked and then jerked us deeper into the woods.

"Gunshots," he hissed. I think Bryce was losing it. "No one shoots at a member of the Nast board of directors. No one."

"They do now."

At least my mouth was working. This wasn't possible. First knights and now soldiers from the Civil War? My life sucked.

Bryce dragged me behind some trees further in and asked quickly, "How do we get out?"

"There's a drain about three houses over just a little further down at the bottom a ravine. It leads into the sewer and you can double back from there," I explained. "It's hard to see, if you don't know what to look for, there's a rock covering the entrance." A horrible thought struck me. "You might be too big to fit." Savannah was almost the same height, but she was thinner and—

"Then we'll move the damn thing," Bryce snarled. "Alright, we need a distraction. I might be a little tired right now, so anything you can do would be good."

"Just use a distortion spell and hope they don't look too closely," I snapped back. "Now come on. We have to move."

I didn't wait another second. I quickly cast the spell and began to creep along the forest floor, pulling Bryce along behind me. More and more men began spilling out of the house. As they crept closer there was the temptation to just cast a binding spell and try and take them out. But there was too many of them and even with Savannah's spellcasting power, I wasn't her. I could not take on the armies of hell and emerge unscathed.

I paused almost inside a large tree, pressed up against Bryce and cast a quick cover spell. As long as we didn't move, we would be invisible. We were pretty close but there were a lot more men coming out. There was about twenty of them and I wasn't sure if a distortion spell would allow us to slip past all of them.

Fortunately, it didn't look like we were going to need that. The men in grey head down towards the other side of the ravine. I let out a sigh of relief and dragged Bryce towards our means of escape.

"See, things can be done without violence," I muttered.

"Do it the boring way," he complained as I pulled him along the path. It was less muddy even if it was narrow and there was a wicked drop beside us. We just had to move fast enough so no one would see if they happened to turn around.

"Must you always—"

The sound _Don't Cha_ erupted, broadcasting for miles in the quiet forest. Bryce stared at me in horror as I tried to shut off me cell phone before anyone heard. I took too long.

The men who had been curiously running the other way, turned and spotted us standing openly on the path. Muskets were raised. That was all it took to have us hightailing it out of there.

Bryce dragged me closer to the ravine floor but then he tripping, knocking his weight onto me. It wasn't advisable, considering he was more than twice my size. The full force of his weight landed on me and the foot I put out for balance landed on a patch of fresh mud, causing me to topple to the ground. He was right there with me. The force of his fall propelled us both down the hill, one over the other, as shots rang out around us.

We finally came to rest near the bottom of the ravine, much closer to our goal. I could actually see the rock that signalled the sewer opening nearby. Finally, some good luck. I lay sprawled on top of Bryce for an instant, trying to catch my breath and make sure nothing was broken. Calm had returned to me. I would kill whoever had called later, when I survived.

"Fuck," he murmured.

I glanced down and noticed he was even paler than before. I wasn't that heavy. I put my arm on one side of his head to propel myself off and then noticed it was covered in blood. For a second I thought I had been hit and hadn't noticed; I looked down and realized it was coming from Bryce.

...


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

...

The men in blue were at the top of the hill, out of sight for the moment. But only for a moment. I was panicking, so I turned to the old standby. I whispered to Bryce quickly: "I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but whatever you do, don't move."

I cast my trusty cover spell. We disappeared from view. Just in time. I spotted the first man coming over the crest of the hill. There appeared to be mass confusion, for they were shouting back and forth at one another. And through it all, they kept yelling, "Find the witch!"

Underneath me I could feel Bryce's chest rise and fall in an irregular rhythm. Staying on top of him probably hadn't been the best decision, but it had been the fastest and surest way to keep the cover spell over both of us. It also allowed me the chance to apply pressure to his arm, which should help slow the bleeding. As long as he hadn't been hit anywhere else...but I wasn't letting myself think that way. We would be fine. If the soldiers ever left so I could cast a cover spell. I berated myself; a simple healing charm before I had hidden us might have helped him. Now we were trapped. Surrounded and stuck.

More men were coming over the crest and I was beginning to really panic. I couldn't cast until they left, but how long did Bryce have to wait?

Something erupted in the distance. I couldn't make out the sound, but I heard the men pointing it out to one another. Grant and Paulson, hopefully. The men didn't seem the most organized of soldiers. I wouldn't have stood a chance against a Cabal trained force. But finally—years later, if felt like—the men drifted away. I waited ten more seconds and then immediately cast a healing spell. Hands over a bloody hole I urged the blood to still. I knew that spell too well. It would help with the pain too, at least until I could get a better look and figure out the best spells for him.

"We need to go. Come on."

Bryce groaned, but the sound relieved me more than anything else. There was blood everywhere, but at least he was alive to be miserable. I helped him rise and put his right arm over my shoulder. His left arm dangled loosely from his side, and the blood began to flow down it. Considering he had just been shot, he was pretty coherent, even if he stumbled a few times before we got to the drain.

I slipped behind the rock and cringed as he barely slipped through, wincing in pain. Helping him deeper into the drain, I cast on the entrance, hoping to disguise the opening for anyone who wasn't looking too closely. I carefully helped Bryce lie back against the sewer wall. He was suddenly very quiet.

"Bryce, please say something. It'll be a lot harder to fix you if you go into shock," I whispered as I felt around the bloody hole. It was a lot bigger than I had expected—stupid musket balls.

"The Pussycat Dolls?" At least he wasn't complaining about the pain he was evidently feeling. "You listen to the Pussycat Dolls?"

I ignored him, searching around the drain for a better source of light. Finally, I conjured up a small ball of fire. "Hold this," I said and Bryce used his right hand to support the light.

"How could you not think to turn off you're cell?" he complained.

"I'm sorry that wasn't my first priority when we started running for our lives. Fuck. I can't see anything with all this blood."

He was biting his lip, but choked out through the pain: "You're completely not worth this."

I could have told him that. But now wasn't the time for any of that—he could make me feel guilty later. There was sweat running down his forehead and my first cursory healing spell hadn't done the trick. It would be better if I could place my hands right over the wounds, even if it was less sanitary.

I grabbed the material of his Babyshambles t-shirt around the collar and pulled. It didn't work. Of course. Even his t-shirts were well made. I ended up gnawing on the material with my teeth. Eventually I was able to rip the thing completely down the middle. The sleeve was easier to get off.

"I liked that shirt."

"I couldn't let the opportunity to undress you pass me by," I said, not really paying attention. The wound was still spurting blood, from the gigantic hole right in the middle of his upper arm, but it was more of a gurgle now. If I could just get my hand on the exit wound, I might be able to fix it up all by myself.

He moaned when I pulled the material off completely, but it came off, which was the best I could hope for. There were some remnants in the wound that would just have to stay there for the moment. I pulled him a little away from the wall that he had been resting against so I could find the exit wound. There wasn't one. Crap. Crap, crap and double crap. Magic could heal, but removing a musket ball was beyond my skills.

I cast another spell for the pain and then told him, "I can't fix this. You need to get to a hospital."

"We can't."

"Bryce, I can't fix this. You have to—"

"If we go to a hospital, Grandpa will find out I've been shot. If he finds out, you're dead. Straight away. Bye-bye witch. And Leech. Grandpa's been looking for an excuse to appease the necromancers for years. Not to mention Grant, though at this moment I can't really feel too bad about that. Then Grandpa will raze California looking for the people who did this. That is not good for anyone."

The part where I was shot on sight convinced me that a hospital wasn't the way to go. Still... "You need medical attention, Bryce."

And suddenly Grant appeared in the alcove, looking as pristine as usual. He took one look and for a second the professional mask shattered and he was terrified. "Sir?"

"Where the fuck were you?" Bryce hissed.

"We don't have time for this. Figure out a way to get us out of here," I begged.

Grant took one moment to look completely lost. Then he was on it. "We can get out through the sewage system. Paulson is parked on a street two blocks over. I should be able to transport us. We can travel to the company clinic from there."

"No clinic," Bryce insisted. He closed his eyes, thinking. Finally: "Nadira. Take me to Nadira's."

"Yes, sir," Grant said.

I stood back and Grant leaned over, touching Bryce and then disappearing. He was back a moment later and before I had time to ask why he had grabbed my arm and was bringing me down the tunnel. Then he teleported us up.

Paulson was in the driver's seat, Bryce curled up against the right window when I was brought in. Grant really was good—it took a lot of precision to teleport other people into such small spaces. Of course, he should have been there before, but I wasn't about to argue the point.

Through the window I could see we were on the next street over. Bryce's car was still in front of Savannah's house. He was going to be so pissed. When we were safely away, I risked a tentative, "I'm so sorry. I should—"

If he hadn't been about to bleed out, he would have snapped. As it was, he glared. "Shut up. I don't want to hear it." His voice rose. "Where they hell were you two?"

Grant turned around. "Sir? We were at the park down the street, like you told us to be. We returned when we heard gunshots."

"I tried..." Bryce's indignation was cut off as his eyes fluttered closed.

I frantically checked for a pulse, pressing stained fingers against his pale skin. Healing spells I could do—doctoring, not so much. It was a long thirty seconds before I found the faint fluttering beneath the surface. There was so much blood.

Paulson caught my eye in the rear-view mirror and the car seemed to go faster. My fingers dug just a little bit further into Bryce's arm. I didn't like death very much. And there was also the fact that if I got a Nast killed, I might as well shoot myself right then and hope Thomas would let it go at that. If I was lucky, he would only arrange for a few centuries of afterlife torment.

The moment of panic subsided and I cast a blood replenishing spell. It might not have been safe—I wasn't _exactly_ sure how much blood he had lost, but with all the blood that Bryce was dripping on my shirt, I figured I could get away with it. "You need to stay conscious, okay? Talk, yell, I don't care. Just keep awake."

"Just leave me alone."

"How about you tell me where we're going?" I suggested. "Bryce, come on. Keep your eyes open."

Even half-unconscious, he managed to look peeved. "Fine. Her name's Nadira Patel. We went to school together."

"Harvard?" How sad was it that I knew where he went to school, simply because he was a sorcerer?

"Berkley. And high school," he admitted. "She's a shaman...her dad's on the board of directors. I think he told her to get close to me. I couldn't stand her."

"Oh good. I can't wait to ask her for help," I muttered.

"She grows on you. And she finally got Leech to ask Claire out. Shut him up. Not that...she was good people, Claire. You would have liked her. She couldn't stand me. Cringed every time I came over. She never forgave me for getting Leech arrested that one time."

"Arrested?"

"It wasn't my fault," Bryce muttered. "Leech has bad luck." I'll bet. But Bryce seemed a bit better. I think I had even managed to stop the bleeding. He continued the conversation. "There are a few rules about Nadira."

"I'm listening."

"Her husband just died, so try and not mention that."

"That's awful. What happened?"

"He was eighty-three. Personally, I think it was the sex that killed him, but I'm no doctor."

"I thought you went to high school...Eighty?"

"Three," Bryce began to laugh manically, which jostled his arm until he was wincing in pain again. I cast another spell for the pain. "He was an old friend of the family. Emphasis on the old. Her dad wanted her to marry...long story short, she married a man almost sixty years older. And unfortunately, they were still soul mates. So don't mention him."

"Okay."

"And don't mention her." Bryce hefted himself up even as I tried to keep him staying still. "Ever. No one can know that you met her. Only Leech. No one else, not even Sean. I'm not supposed to visit her."

"Why not?"

He didn't answer as an enormous white villa appeared in front of us. I had to find myself a husband sixty years my senior. Palm trees lined the driveway and an elaborate wrought-iron fence barred the way between the towering white walls that surrounded the place. There was an intercom and Paulson quickly brought the car up beside it.

Grant sais something to the servant who answered and eventually a melodious voice came over the tiny speaker, a voice that made it clear we were talking to someone important: "Speak to me."

Paulson leaned over and answered. "Excuse me, ma'am. I have Bryce Nast here. He would like to come in."

There was a slight pause and then: "Bryce! How are you? I've missed you dreadfully. Come in, come in. How come this is the first I'm hearing about you being out West? You better have loads to tell me. Come in."

Bryce was drifting out of consciousness again, but managed to grab my hand. "And whatever you do, don't pay attention to anything she says. Understand? Gillian?"

"You're going to hurt yourself," I scolded. "I understand. Calm down."

Paulson parked the car right in front of an ornately carved wooden door and came around to help Bryce out of the vehicle.

The door of the house was opened by the ideal trophy wife. She was gorgeous—perfect skin, perfect features, the sweetest almond eyes and thick, dark hair that cascaded in perfectly neat waves down her back. The dress she was wearing was clearly made out of silk, revealing enough skin to be inciting, but not enough to be trashy. She was like a Barbie, come to life. No wonder Bryce knew her.

Nadira's eyes widened as she took in the scene: Bryce, practically in Paulson's arms, shirt off, blood soaked, dirt everywhere. The strange blonde woman with blood all over her hands. And then she smiled.

"It's never boring when you're around, I'll give you that." Addressing Grant, she clearly ordered: "Put him in the living room—watch the carpet. I just had it installed. On the green couch. It's a good excuse to buy another one. What kind of mess have you to gotten into this time?"

Bryce didn't manage a response. It was my mess but I wasn't going to claim responsibility for it. I just hurried out of the car and after Paulson who was hurrying into the house. I was hoping to pass without comment, but Nadira's eyes lit up upon seeing me. "Fresh blood?" she asked.

"I slowed the bleeding as much as I could," I replied. "But I can't stop it completely until you get out whatever's not supposed to be there. I didn't want to put a bandage on. The healing spells wouldn't work as well."

"That isn't what I meant at all, sweetheart," Nadira said with smile. "But it'll do for now. Come on."

She led me inside one of the nicest houses I'd ever seen. It was ornate without being flashy, bright without being tacky, sparse without being barren. Whatever the balance was that made up a perfectly decorated place, Nadira had found it. I was starting to really hate the bitch. She led me through a few large rooms to one where Bryce was lying on the couch, looking a lot less annoyed than as usual, being unconscious and all.

Nadira lay one perfectly manicured hand on Bryce's forehead. "What sort of mess have you gotten into this time?"

When she received no answer—could she hurry this up? He was starting to look really bad—she got up and waved me to follow her. Grant as well. We both did as were told. She walked us to an enormous kitchen. "Wash up. I don't want you to infect him. Grant, once you're done I'm going to need all of that equipment that's upstairs in the black bag in the blue room. Sweetheart, how do you feel like playing nurse today?"

I nodded and she smiled again and handed us the plastic gloves she had put on her own hands. Opening a cupboard with her elbow, she pulled out a tray and began lining it was clean linen, gesturing Grant to hurry up. Still addressing me she asked, "Once I get it out, do you think you can close him up? Or should I prepare for stitches?"

"It depends on how deep and how tired I am. I wouldn't count on me being able to do it. I'll try, but you'll probably have to sew manually."

"It's been a long while since I've had to do that," she admitted. "You're a lot shorter than the women he usually sleeps with."

Seeing as I was covered in a lot of blood that wasn't mine, I answered a lot more impolitely than I intended. "We can compare the experience after he's all right, okay?"

"Oh, sweetie," she said, facing me full on. "Unless you shot him yourself, there's no need to feel guilty. He wouldn't have brought you here if he wasn't going to forgive you. Unless he was going to kill you." She tilted her head to the side, then shook her head. "I don't think he will. He doesn't like killing women."

Was she being serious? Hadn't Bryce knocked himself telling me not to listen to her? The whole calmly discussing my possible death had shaken me, though. I did not like that.

"I—is there anything else you need me to do?"

"Make sure not to touch anything. We don't want our hands to get dirty," Nadira said, still smiling.

Grant brought the black bag into the living room and Nadira had Paulson sit down on the floor beside Bryce, arms out, so she could rest a tray on him. She had Grant open the black bag and she carefully took out a bunch of surgical instruments that I couldn't name. No matter. Nadira evidently could.

It was one of the stranger experiences in my life—and my father could hear when the guy down the street bit his nails. Performing home surgery with a shaman who occasionally asked me if I preferred the Gucci or Prada accessories wasn't something I wanted to do very often. But even over the incessant chatter, it was obvious that Nadira knew what she was doing. Her tools were immaculate, her stitches even—Bryce barely flinched when she removed the musket ball from his arm, though I liked to think the calming spells she had me continuously casting helped a little. We didn't have the tools to put him under properly, but she promised the spells would help enough and though Bryce was sweating an awful lot, he remained unconscious the whole time.

As Nadira finished up the stitches, she grinned at the rest of us. "All done. He's very lucky, you know. A few more inches up and to the right, it would have caught him right in the heart." She took my gloved hand and placed it on his chest. "See, right there. There wouldn't be anything for me to do then."

I shivered, even as she told me to cast another spell to replenish the blood he had lost. I did that while she said something about resting. Bryce had different ideas—he woke up and started complaining.

"I want to know what the fuck happened back there. Where the fucking hell did you go?"

Grant looked down, clearly miserable, and so Paulson answered. "You ordered us away. I heard you—you said to go for a long drive. We did. We returned to the scene when we heard gunshots. I listened, found your position and Grant moved in. We were following your orders."

"I called you six times," Bryce said. "It was busy every time."

Both bodyguards reached down to check their phones. Again Paulson spoke. "No one called us, sir."

"Are you doubting me, Paulson?" There was a dangerous edge in his voice that reminded me that Bryce was not to be messed with. He was used to getting what he wanted; it didn't matter how unpleasant or impossible it was.

Grant finally decided to talk: "Sir, I would like to hand in my resignation, as soon as possible. I can have headquarters send in reinforcements immediately."

Paulson's eyes widened, and it wasn't hard to figure out why. Cabal employees didn't quit. Especially bodyguards. They knew too much to be allowed to leave. Grant was effectively asking for a death sentence.

Bryce relaxed slightly. "Denied, obviously." He closed his eyes as Nadira finished cleaning up the room. "Grant, you need to figure out what happened. Because I swear I called you and I couldn't get through. Oh, and I need you to kill whoever just called Gillian."

I pulled out my cell phone and quickly checked the phone number. "It was probably just Leech wondering if we had found the grimoires," I said. The number didn't look familiar, and my phone didn't give me any identification. I reluctantly handed it over to Grant. "You're not actually going to kill them?"

"No," Bryce promised. "But really, Gillian? Vibrate. Not that hard."

Nadira came back in the room, blindingly white teeth flashing at everyone. "Who wants something to eat? You all must be starved."

"Dira," Bryce said almost patiently, "You know I can't stay."

"You can't be moved. Gillian will agree with me. You have to stay." There was a plea in there that was unmistakable. Bryce sighed.

"Only because you're a saint for fixing me up on such short notice."

"Excellent. Now then—"

But she was interrupted by the entrance of a rather small man with a bow tie around his next. "Ma'am, is everything—" He stopped moving, taking in the scene before him. Taking in everything, even as Nadira's face turned an ashy colour.

"Why are you here, Keller? You're supposed to be at the dry cleaners."

"They finished, Madame," Keller said. "Is there anything I could do for you here?"

"No, thank you," she whispered. "You're dismissed."

He bowed and then slipped back out the door. Nadira turned to Bryce. "He wasn't supposed to come back. He...he wasn't—" She was practically crying. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"So he's the one," Bryce said. She nodded. "Okay. Grant, ready to make this morning up to me?"

Grant straightened up, standing tall and proud in the living room. "Yes, sir."

Bryce gave a tiny half-smile. "Kill Keller."

And Grant disappeared and the carefully muffled gunshot that came next said he had.

...


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

...

Grant reappeared in the middle of the room with Keller's body a moment later. There was only a tiny hole in the middle of his head where Grant's pistol had done it's work, just a little bit of blood, trickling over the light hair. Paulson carefully helped Grant lay the body on the carpet, careful not to get evidence anywhere. It was so tiny. I don't know what I was expecting, but not this. It could have been a prop for some sort of movie, not a man I had seen talking only moments before. One minute he had been alive and the next...just a little pop and he was dead.

Nadira looked as upset as I felt, but when she spoke, I realized it was for different reasons. "How am I supposed to explain this?" she demanded. "What in the world can I possibly say? Papa's going to know you did this."

"Going to suspect," Bryce corrected. "He won't be able to prove anything this way. Grant will make it look like an accident. Your dad might just think you're trying to tell him to fuck off. Haven't I been telling you this entire time to just kill the little spy? It'll work out this way. Grant?"

"Already planning on how to make it look like an accident, sir."

"Good. Okay, I'm going to take a nap, unless there are any other problems around here?"

Nadira's voice was calm as she announced, "We might have to kill the girl as well."

That snapped me out of my reverie. I jerked backwards, already half muttering a knockback spell. Let them just try and kill me. But Bryce interrupted. "No one is going to kill you, Gillian, so calm the fuck down. Dira, I love you, but don't say shit like that."

Now that he was sort of paying attention to me, I blurted out: "You don't care. You don't care at all."

"Yes," Bryce said, as if I were slow. "I just got shot. I'm not standing at attention for some guy that I wanted dead."

"She's panicking, Bryce," Nadira said. "People who panic end up dead—and I am not dying for your current piece of ass."

"Hey," I snapped.

"Gillian is panicking because that's what Gillian does," Bryce explained. He was a little too amused by this for my liking. "It doesn't mean she actually cares. And Dira? Shut up. Understand?"

She regarded him coldly for a moment, a long moment, where I was a little afraid she would just attack him. The moment passed. Her face broke into an enormous smile. "Does this mean you're going to stay?"

"It looks that way," he said, though he had lost some of his nonchalance in the face of her enthusiasm.

"What about—?" I choked back her name. I didn't like Nadira very much and I sure wasn't going to talk about Savannah in front of her. "We have important things to do today, Bryce."

"He's not going anywhere today," Nadira announced.

"And you're not going back to that warehouse without me," he said. I think the whole operation was starting to catch up with him, because he was beginning to look just as bad as he had when we brought him here.

"You want to wait another day?"

"What part of 'Nast property' do you not understand? You're not going back there. Look through the books we got today. We'll go early tomorrow morning, I promise."

"Preferably before you change your mind and have me killed."

"I am not dignifying that with a response. Grant? Get Gillian to Leech's. And call Sean. He cannot know about this."

With us minions summarily dismissed, Bryce lowered his head to the pillows and closed his eyes. His message couldn't have been more obvious if he had taped a 'Do not disturb' sign to his forehead. Grant tried to take my elbow, but I found myself jerking away from him.

"I'm going," I snarled and headed towards the car. Honestly, I was just a little afraid this was going to be the last car ride I ever took. Grant stayed back to tell Paulson how to best cover up the murder.

As I stalked out of the house, I could hear Nadira calling after me: "Lovely to meet you, Gillian. If you're free next Tuesday, come over for lunch."

The worst part was that she sounded sincere.

* * *

Grant insisted I sit in the back of the car, but if he was going to kill me, I would prefer to die in the front. That was where I belonged, after all. I wasn't Cabal royalty—I should sit with the employees.

We drove in silence for a while and then Grant slowed the car down. I readied a lightning bolt spell as the gravel crunched underneath the car. I wasn't about to go down without a fight, but I wasn't about to start one either. He would have to make the first move. Because he had killed that man because he had been ordered to. I had spent too long absolving my father for that very same reason to hate Grant for it.

Grant turned the car off and took a deep breath. I was already turned sideways in my seat, back against the window, ready to attack if I had to. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and slowly turned his head.

"Miss MacArthur, I just wanted you to know how incredibly sorry I am for my negligence this morning. I want to personally assure you nothing like this will ever happen to you again. Ever."

Not quite what I was expecting, but in its own way it was just as upsetting. "It's all right. You'll find out what happened. Then you'll stop it. It's what you do."

"You don't have to worry, Miss MacArthur. Mr Nast won't give the order to kill you."

"You willing to bet my life on that, Grant?"

"Nineteen years says I know how that boy thinks, Miss MacArthur. He won't kill you, not unless you push him into it. Even then—there's no need for you to worry. If he wanted you dead he would have sent Paulson with you."

"He looks too new to know how to dispose of someone properly."

"Death by incompetence," Grant muttered. "He's going to perform the disposal improperly and I'm going to have to redo it."

"I thought they covered body disposal on the first day."

"The first day is learning how to take a bullet for the team," he said cheerfully.

I couldn't help smiling.

"Thank you," I said, and Grant nodded and drove us back Leech's.

* * *

If I had thought Savannah had been displeased when I left that morning, it was nothing compared to how she was when I got back. Not only had I put my hands all over her grimoires, almost had sex with the evil half-brother and gotten said relation shot, I also hadn't contacted her once. She didn't like being ignored.

I didn't dare break the communication spell, just tried to patiently listen to her list of my failings. I did deserve it. I had been fairly useless while under attack and then I had completely screwed up everything.

"At least you're alive," Savannah said finally. "You okay?"

"Everything that happened is my fault. I have to be," I thought back.

Savannah sighed, filling my head "It's really annoying when you do that, you know. Not everything wrong with the planet's your fault, Gillian."

"Tell that to your brother when he gets back. I have a good feeling that he's not going to let me off the hook that easily. He's the murderer and he's going to blame me. Not fucking fair."

"Murderer?"

Belatedly, I realized I should have just kept my mouth shut. "Never mind."

"Murderer?" she repeated, her tone suggesting she wasn't just going to let me brush this one off.

"He's a Nast, obviously he's a killer. All the sorcerers are. You shouldn't sound so shocked."

"I guess it's better you remember that now rather than later."

"Yeah, could you not do that? I'm not an idiot, even when I'm making mistakes. I know what he is. And in my opinion, you should be getting to know him. He's your brother and I think the two of you would get along well."

"Don't," Savannah said. She sighed. "Don't do that, Gillian. I'm don't care about being friends just because we share DNA. And murderer is not something that can be excused."

"It was just business. You can't take it personally. Listen, I really am too tired to keep the spell up. Too many healing spells. You have your Dad to talk to, right?"

"Nah. He's gone to watch over Bryce. Nothing he can do for either of us, but it makes him feel better. Plus he spends most of his time around me feeling guilty that he's not my mother." I wasn't sure how to respond to that, but Savannah saved me the trouble by continuing. "I shouldn't have told him I wished they'd sent her instead. I didn't mean anything by it. He seems like an okay guy, even if he did let those bitches—but that was a long time ago. I don't mind him hanging around."

"I think it's really sweet, that you get to spend time with him, even if he is dead."

"It's not sweet," she protested. "Go find something to do." She remembered what I had done last night and corrected herself. "Go watch a movie and keep your hands to yourself."

"I can't jump you're brother if he's not here."

"There's still Leech. Though I suppose it's less interesting when they're not related to me, and, oh yeah, evil half-brothers from hell."

Avoiding the topic, which was only going to remind Savannah how annoying I was, I changed the subject. "When you're dad comes back tell him I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be sorry."

But I was. And I didn't want Kristof Nast mad at me. Dead or not, the man scared me. Further conversation was cut off by the entrance of Leech. He stood in the doorway, uncertain, as Savannah and I said quick goodbyes.

"Grant called in reinforcements. They've got twelve guys stationed around the house. Be careful when you go out."

"I don't think that's something we have to worry about." I wasn't going anywhere, not anymore. Not when there were so many other centuries for soldiers to come from. "Thank you," I added. "For all your help."

"Bryce wants to help you, I help you," he explained. Yesterday, I would have made some BFF comment. Now, I wasn't too sure. I waited for him as he added, "I owe him. More than I can ever repay. So I can suffer through having beautiful girls throw themselves at me, if that's what he wants."

I ignored the compliment. Just because I had looked like hell didn't mean he needed to boost myself esteem. He seemed to realize as much.

"Let's go watch TV."

Leech made me watch Will Ferrell comedies all night. He didn't want violent movies to upset me. They would have upset me less, I think. You had to be in the mood for frat boy humour, and I wasn't. I didn't have the heart to tell Leech that. He spent the whole time quoting along with the movie. Someone evidently loved them far too much.

We talked a little bit, both of us avoiding subjects that would lead to anything important. Leech settled for telling me a story about him, Bryce, a cabbage and a mobster's wife, back in their college days. Even after the day I had, I could still crack a brittle smile. I had always been able to do that. I think that's why Mom loved me best. Dana had forgotten to smile the second Dad left.

I couldn't help thinking of Dad as I talked to Leech, and not just because Bryce had brought my family to the forefront of my mind this morning. In a funny way, Leech sort of reminded me of my father with his patience and his light-hearted jokes, but the hint of power hiding underneath. I could see Leech making the same mistakes my father had. Assuming that because you were a decent sort of person, dedicated solely to your mission, everyone else would be too. I didn't ask about the ex-wife. I bet he never realized that when she ran away, all she really wanted was for him to come after her.

But I had long ago learned there are some fights that you can't stop and it's not worth getting in the middle of them. So I held my tongue and eventually went to sleep.

* * *

Breakfast should have been a simple affair. I simply wasn't hungry. But I wasn't the only one around. Leech was eating cereal, but there were twelve hungry men outside and it was the least I could do. Someone had to use the beautiful kitchen. I might even be able to convince Savannah I was eating if she saw me cooking. Savannah was currently waiting impatiently for Bryce to come home so we could get back to the warehouse and fix her.

With Leech's permission I set about cooking up some proper breakfast—pancakes, because it was both simple and delicious. Leech sat down and read the newspaper, talking to Savannah about some crisis or another.

I poked my head out of the back door and spotted Grant over by the gazebo. Waving him over, I noticed he looked distinctly ruffled this morning.

"I was going to ask if you wanted breakfast," I said. "Are you all right?"

"Everything seems quiet. Paulson's bringing Mr Nast home in an hour," he replied.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"I haven't made much progress on the communication malfunction yesterday."

"You'll find something," I assured him.

He dropped his voice, so that I could barely here. "The number on your phone? It came from the Nast building. The top floor, executive suite. That's one too many coincidences. First our warehouse, now our building...I don't like it."

"Breakfast?" I said somewhat desperately. "I made enough for all of them. I can bring it out, or you can come in one at a time."

"I wouldn't want to weaken the surveillance."

"No offence, but with the way the guarding me has been going, I'm probably safer if someone stays in my sight at all times, so when the rest of you disappear, at least I'm not alone."

He didn't find my joke particularly funny. "I want to apologize again, Miss MacArthur. This has never happened to us before."

I believed him. Call me naive, but I completely believed that he was honestly devastated—maybe even more than I had been—about the attack. Sympathy had never been my thing. "So breakfast?"

* * *

They came into the kitchen, one at a time, and I made more as they sat at the island and talked. Well, some of them talked. Others glared at Leech or at me or at the pancakes. They even glared at the invisible space where Savannah was, even though they didn't realize she was there. Nast employees—very unimpressive. Too many personal feelings.

Paulson came in last and he, at least, smiled. I smiled back. Bryce had returned, Paulson explained, but was talking to Grant about the communication breakdown the other day. I didn't mind the delay. I just asked Paulson: "Bacon as well?"

"Sounds good. You look busy back there."

The kitchen was a certifiable disaster, but I would clean up later. I didn't cook often enough to bother cleaning up as I went. Instead, I asked, "How's the arm?"

He held it out and I was pleased to see only a thin scab running down it. "I didn't even need stitches. Thanks for that."

I pulled up a chair and ate my pancakes with him. Paulson had been with the Nasts for only two years, having joined the day he turned twenty-one, just barely in control of his powers. The Nasts had been his first choice. The Cortezes had the best benefits, but the Nasts had a higher entry salary and better chances for climbing the ladder, quickly. The Boyds and St. Clouds had too little presence on the west coast.

Expiscors weren't usually bodyguards, but Paulson made it sound like Bryce had been desperate to hire anyone and Paulson had signed up quickly, hoping to advance his career. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that this wasn't the way to go about it, but he wasn't going to be allowed to quit. No one else wanted to be Bryce's bodyguard, but Thomas Nast had insisted his least reliable grandson have two men on him at all times. Bryce wouldn't let go of Paulson without a fight. And you didn't fight Cabal royalty—not if you wanted to live.

Being an Expiscor, Paulson had overheard one too many secret deals to be allowed free reign. Super-hearing was one of the more invading powers, perfect for espionage and stories that involved completely embarrassed individuals. Though of course, like all Expiscors, there was the unenviable moment when they're powers allowed them to hear dear old single mom having sex.

"At least she wasn't a screamer. My mother's boyfriend wasn't happy until she was shouting so you could hear her down the block. Neighbours once called the cops," I told him. It hadn't been funny at the time—Dana had been deathly embarrassed and furious and had screamed at my mother afterwards. But looking back...I found it pretty damn funny.

"How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"Yikes." He dipped the bacon into the maple syrup. "Though at least you weren't stupid enough to think she was being attacked. I barged right into that room, waving a baseball bat. Almost gave the guy a heart attack."

I laughed and offered him more pancakes. Paulson shook his head. "I shouldn't, miss. I already think I ate too much."

"You should." I put the last pancake on his plate and he dug into it gamely. "You know, you really have to stop calling me that. My name is Gillian and I feel like a pretentious snob every time you say it."

He grinned but said carefully, "Grant would have my head. He's big on the rules. I've only ever heard him call Mr Nast by his first name once, and he still said mister in front of it. Plus, I don't like Mr Nast would like that very much, either."

"Mr Nast isn't here." Thanks to me, but we didn't have to get into that. "And he wouldn't care if it sounded like you were disrespecting me."

"I doubt that," Paulson said taking a swing of orange juice. "Not that it's any of my business."

I wanted to explain that it was just business, that I had just been bored, but I couldn't decide what track to take. So instead I settled for saying, "And I won't be his business for very long, either. Two more days and you'll be protecting the next girl."

"Actually—"

"Aren't you the perfect little housewife?"

I spun around to see Bryce standing in the doorway. I could make out the bandage on his arm through the shirt, but other than that he looked the same as ever. Blonde hair a mess, slouched over, scowl on his face and bright blue eyes glaring at me. It was so familiar I found myself grinning in spite of myself.

"You escaped," I said, instinctively standing.

"Let us not speak of that again," he said, wincing at the memories. Clearly Bryce did not like to spend the night gossiping. Then he turned to Paulson and demanded, "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

Paulson scrambled to his feet. He couldn't tell his boss to go to hell, but I could. "He's having breakfast, as you no doubt realize. Just because he hasn't killed anyone this morning, doesn't mean the day has been wasted."

Bryce ignored me. "Get out. Take the damn plate with you if you want."

"No thank you, sir," Paulson said, giving a quick salute. "Thank you for the pancakes, miss."

Paulson left quickly, eager to be out of the room. Bryce watched him go, disdain over his face.

"Of course you would befriend the talentless minion," he accused me.

"Drop dead."

"You already tried that." Even though he was joking, I stille felt guilty. Bryce settled onto the counter and waved Leech over. The big man got up from the table and sat down beside him as Bryce demanded, "So where are my pancakes?"

"Make them yourself."

Leech interrupted our joyful reunion. "What are you going to do about today? Savannah's getting impatient."

Bryce flipped off the air that Leech had just indicated. "I've called in a whole troop and I'm going to tell them that if they leave the premises without my expression, personal confirmation, I will have them all decapitated."

Leech got up to help Savannah exit the house as she began walking towards the warehouse; we expected her there around two. Bryce acknowledged the fact and took out his Blackberry to inform the teams he was bringing. If Bryce wanted to ignore me, it was fine with me.

Grant entered the room, carefully not looking at Bryce. He simply handed me my cell phone back. "Paige Winterbourne just called," he said.

Crap. I had a pretty good idea what that would be about. With a sigh, I asked, "Do you think Leech would mind if I used his phone to call Portland?"

Bryce gestured to the black plastic device on the wall, not caring. I waited for him to leave the room, but Bryce just got up to get cereal. With a sigh, I dialled Paige's cell.

She sounded relieved when she heard my voice. I couldn't blame her, not when I already suspected the reason she had called. We didn't waste much time with pleasantries.

"Have you talked to Savannah lately? I've been trying to reach her for days."

"Savannah?" It was the perfect note of guilt. "Um...have I seen her?"

"Gillian...." Paige could admonish well with just one syllable. "What's going on?"

Bryce looked at me like I was crazy but I let my eyes well with tears. "I promised her I wouldn't tell."

"Gillian."

Both her and Bryce said my name, both annoyed. I did what I had to do.

"Please, just don't tell her I told you."

"Are you fucking nuts?" Bryce hissed. I hushed him angrily. I did not need Paige knowing who I was hanging around with.

"I promise," Paige said. "What's going on?"

"Savannah got sick. I think it's strep throat, but she didn't want to worry you," I said in a rush. "I got her some antibiotics and dragged her to my place so I could look after her better." I hoped that the Cortezes hadn't realized that Tia was dead, because they would seriously start to wonder what kind of house Savannah was hanging around in and that would just make them suspicious. "She still not completely fine, but she's doing better."

"She sick? What's her temperature?" Paige launched into a list of questions that worried mother's everywhere had perfected over time. Even my mother knew them. I dodged them easily.

"Don't worry about it Paige. That's the whole point. I've got it under control. Trust me, I would call you if I needed you." I looked up from the counter to find Bryce staring at me. And this time, it wasn't anger on his face. I shivered and tried to keep my mind on the phone. Wasn't he supposed to be mad me? I had managed to put a bullet in him. "I'll tell her to call you when she's better."

Paige sighed. From the noise at her end, she was clearly walking briskly through a large crowd. Entrepreneurs never did get a break. She took my word, because she was too tired to bother suspecting me. "Thank you, Gillian. You're not getting sick, are you?"

"I'm fine," I said, catching Bryce's eye. 'Liar' he mouthed. I blushed and tried to ignore him. But that didn't work out so well when he got up and came over.

"You sure?"

His good hand was on my waist, gently brushing the skin exposed there. He had me pushed up against the counter, smirking down at me, as a hand began crawling up my shirt. Fingers brushed my ribs and I shivered.

"I'm good," I promised.

He kissed me then and I held the receiver away so Paige wouldn't accidently hear something she shouldn't. I could hear her saying goodbye and I pulled free and echoed the sentiment. I hung up just as Bryce brushed the underside of my breast.

"Strep throat?" He was laughing at me, a little.

"So she wouldn't ask to talk to her." I grabbed his hand and pushed it to his side. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think?"

"I got you shot."

"You felt bad about it."

"I watched you kill someone."

"You watched me order Grant to kill someone," he said. He was starting to sound annoyed. Good.

"Grant was just following orders. Your orders. You're the one who's responsible." I was just daring him to contradict me. "If you're in charge, you're responsible. That's the way it works Bryce. Once you had decided, Grant didn't have a choice. You did. You killed him."

"Is that you're way of asking why?"

I walked away, sitting down at the island. Bryce sighed and leaned against the counter. At least he had offered to explain. I hadn't expected that much. "If I'm going to get an answer."

He ran his hand through his hair. "I told you Nadira's father was on the board, right? That means...you know what that means. Dira's husband was a lot less well off than everyone thought he was. So he asked his wife for a few tips. What did Dira know? So she stole some information from her father."

"And she's still alive?" I asked, a little surprised. No one betrayed the Cabals. Even if it was Bryce who went out and spilled the family secrets, the assassins would be out before he could blink. It was loyalty or death.

"We didn't lose money because what she did. She just made money because of us. But the fact that she was willing to go even that far pissed off the board. So they punished her. Total supernatural silence. No one who works for the Nasts can talk to her. That includes me. We've figured out ways to keep in touch by phone, but it's too risky to see her in person."

"What could they possibly do to you?" I demanded.

"It would undercut all my credibility with the shamans, except maybe Alba. Not to mention the entire board. I'm useless if no one will talk to me and Grandpa won't tolerate useless. That man, Keller, he worked for her father, to ensure I didn't do exactly what I did yesterday. I had to kill him, so no one would know I was there."

"I still don't get why you can't just order everyone to leave you alone."

"I wish I could tell them to fuck off," he said. "But I only get everything I want if I don't remind people of that fact too often. Now, since I've been so patient, what do you say we get out of this kitchen?"

"I do know the spells backwards and forwards. There really is nothing I can do until we go to the portal," I admitted.

He was coming over again, but this time I let him. His lips were soft, but still as demanding as always. I titled my head up to give him better access. But it was tamer than usual—I was being careful not to jar his left arm, unsure how it would handle anything. His left hand was staying on my hip and I think it had more to do with him not wanting to lift it than anything else. Though I wasn't complaining.

He placed light kisses against my jaw and neck, breath warm against my skin as he whispered, "And maybe if we're really lucky, the she-devil will get lost on the way and you won't even have to go save her."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. Maybe Savannah will get lost."

"Maybe she'll be stuck in some sort of horrible non-existence for the rest of eternity. Is that what you meant, Bryce?" I stood up and it was much less impressive considering he towered over me, but I didn't let that stop me. "Who cares what happens to her, as long as you get laid?"

His face went steely. "That would be the general idea, yes."

"And the man was just collateral damage. He had to die, so your life wouldn't be inconvenienced. Is that right to?"

"You're going to repeat everything I say, Gillian?"

"What is wrong with you? Shouldn't that sort of unbelievable selfishness make you incapable of functioning? It's disgusting."

Bryce groaned. "As great as it is to listen to listen to your moral outrage, Gillian, I have a little bit of advice. Either shut up or get over it. You don't want to push me."

"Because people who do that end up dead, right, Bryce? Because annoying you is a crime, apparently, punishable by death. Should I be quaking in my boots? Writing my last will and testament? Seriously, Bryce, how many people have you killed? Fifty? A hundred?"

"I don't kill many people myself. I just give the order. You want to know how many I'm responsible for? I couldn't tell you. I honestly don't remember."

"How do you not care?"

Jealousy wasn't the right word, but I did want to know how he managed to cut everything out so effortlessly. Because that was what you had to do to survive—Dad had tried to teach me, but hadn't managed to succeed. After all this time, I wanted to be let in on the secret.

"Anyone who gets involved with a Cabal knows what they're getting into. If they don't, they're idiots and that's not my problem." Bryce shook his head. "Wait a minute—are you mad at me or congratulating me? No wonder they threw you in therapy."

I slapped him because that seemed like the best idea. Because I couldn't hurt him the way he could hurt him, so I might as well resort to physical violence. This was worse than Paulson listening during sex. He wasn't supposed to look. "You checked up on me? I told you not to. You bastard. You—"

"I guessed. At least now I know why you're angry. Your doctor must not be very good."

"Which you only care about because it means we're not having sex."

"Clearly you don't know what you're talking about. We can still have sex if your pissed. Hell, sometimes it's even better when you can't stand each other."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. I might actually have to feel sorry for you."

For the first time, he looked as angry as I wanted him to be. Color appeared on his cheeks and his nostrils flared. "Don't. And don't pretend you didn't get on your back just to help the she-devil. I prefer the honestly."

I threw a glass of milk at him; I think it might have clipped his ear. Either way, it shattered on the wall behind him. "Go to hell."

"That was twice, Gillian. Three times and I'm hitting back."

"You mean you'll have Grant hit me, don't you?" I rolled my eyes. "Find another whore, Bryce. I'm going for a walk."

I didn't wait for him to answer, just walked out of that kitchen as fast as I could. No sooner had I gone outside than Grant was in front of me. Not looking me in the eye, he informed me: "It's better if you stay on the property, Miss MacArthur. We can't guarantee security."

"I wasn't—Paulson listened?" Of course he did. It was his job. "Never mind. I'm just going to go lie down."

I pushed past him, up the ladder that was still up against the wall. I climbed up, felt the tiles burning under my skin. I lay there, trying to get warm, trying to not to remember how I really was exactly like my mother.

...


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

...

Bryce came up on the roof a few hours later. Leech sent him—I had heard them arguing down below. Leech thought he should apologize, though I only knew that because Bryce hadn't bothered to keep his protests quiet. At least he was honest. You had to give him that.

"You need to..." he sought for the word as he stood above me. I didn't bother to help him. "Savannah's going to be in position soon. You have to be able to at least stay within a hundred feet of me."

I kept my eyes closed, just raised my middle finger. I could hear him turning around, making his way back towards the ladder. But he didn't climb down. He stayed on the roof. Twenty bucks said that Leech was waiting at the bottom.

"Maybe calling you a whore was beneath me," he said finally.

"Maybe?"

"Shut up." He began to pace. I hoped he tripped and fell off. "I don't actually think it's true."

"That makes me feel so much better."

"Christ, Gillian. What was I supposed to say? You were basically saying I'm a soulless monster. I should be allowed a crack about—"

"Yeah, but you actually are a soulless monster, whereas I am not a...I guess I am," I snapped. I sat up, eyes flashing. "Right? That's got to be the only reason I would fuck you."

"See? Why do you get to say shit like that, but all of a sudden I'm a bastard because I insulted you? You wouldn't accept anything from me even if I offered it to you on bended knees. Unless it was for Savannah. But you figured out how to get that kind of help from me almost the moment you met me—while keeping your clothes on, I might add. I still don't like how you did that."

"I already apologized for it. Didn't I?" I couldn't remember. Bryce finally risked sitting down and after I didn't immediately push him off, relaxed a little bit and shrugged, clearly unsure himself. "Well, I am sorry. It was beneath me."

He grinned and I found myself returning the gesture, almost shamefaced. Just because I liked to say he didn't have feelings—or a soul—didn't mean it was true. I offered, "I didn't mean all that stuff about you being evil incarnate, either."

"Liar," but at least he was smiling. "It bothers you that I killed the butler." From his tone of voice it was clear it didn't bother him. But it almost sounded like he was bothered that it bothered me.

I shook my head. "You ruin people's lives for a living. I know that. I don't get to be mad about it. I don't get to judge. It's what you do—what the Cabals do. If I couldn't accept it...I would have gone to Paige Winterbourne like I was supposed to."

"Then why the hell did we have that whole argument in the first place?" Bryce asked, reaching for me.

I pulled away, not ready to jump him just yet. This wasn't something I wanted to talk about. Especially not with a Nast. But I had got him shot and after ten minutes of complaining he had completely put it behind him. I was more than a little jealous—and just a little bit curious. Even if he wouldn't tell me how he did it, maybe I could figure it out myself.

"Dana MacArthur is my sister," I said quietly. "What do you know about her?"

"You're not going to run away?" My face must have been answer enough. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. "Dana MacArthur. Witch. Father worked for the Cortezes, Class D. Killed in Atlanta, Georgia by Edw—a vampire. She was in a coma when they found her. She never woke up."

"She was my big sister, two and a half years older and she never really let me forget it. She was the loud one. Gorgeous too—you would have liked her. She was fun and always laughing. She knew how to have a good time. She always let me have the last Oreo, though she made fun of the way I ate them. She wasn't...she could take charity like I never could, but she was incredibly generous when we had more than enough. Really generous. She always knew how to make me laugh," I said, choking back the tears.

Bryce was silent, for which I was grateful. I had to get this out at my own pace. I needed to say it out loud, because I shouldn't be the only one who could remember.

"She hated Disney cartoons but still thought Aladdin was kind of hot. She loved horror movies and knew how to sneak into more places than I could probably name. She was my best friend. In the whole world."

"She sounds pretty great," he said softly.

"She was. You know who else is pretty great, Bryce? Savannah."

I think he understood where I was going with this, but he let me continue.

"I bitch about her constantly and complain about her when I'm catching my breath, but the reality is she's pretty fucking awesome. She's fearless and self-assured and she questions everything she doesn't like and ends up figuring out how to get her way. She's kick ass in a fight. She's...always there for me. I'm almost an official mess and she's always there for me. Always. I think you'd like her if you just gave her a chance."

Bryce had the grace to look down. "I don't actually want her stuck in unknown dimensions," he admitted.

"Not good enough, Bryce. You have a chance to know this spectacular, amazing woman and the best you can do is agree not to leave her stranded? I just don't get how you can do that. I really just don't understand."

"You know who else was an amazing person, Gillian? My father."

"So that's it? You're own flesh and blood and that's it?"

He was gazing at the roof like it was going to start talking to him. I crawled over and touched his shoulder. When he looked up, I couldn't quite read his expression. "Truth?"

"That's the general idea."

"Do you know what it would do to my grandfather if he found out I had forgiven the woman who killed his son? He wouldn't be able to recover from that."

"Who said your grandfather has to know?" But even as I said it, I knew what his response would be. Thomas Nast was a Cabal CEO. They really did know everything. "Sorry. But it just seems dumb that you would let him run your life like that, even if he is your grandfather."

"It does, doesn't it?"

But he made no comment after that, just pulled me on top of him and proceeded to stop me from pursuing that line of thought further.

* * *

Leech called up a while later, telling us that the ghost was at the warehouse. I was half-asleep on the roof and it was only after Bryce half-picked me up that I actually paid attention to the words Leech was saying.

I pulled away so I could dust off the strange pieces of dust that had managed to cling to me. As Bryce waited patiently, I brought up that, "You should learn the spell, too. Just in case I need more power or something."

"I'll learn it on the way over," he said as he began climbing down the ladder.

He had to go slowly, because of his arm and I cringed a little at the reminder. Maybe he had gotten over it, but I hadn't. If Grant ever found out who had placed the call, I would kill them with my own hands.

I followed after Bryce, taking the ladder this time. Seeing as Leech had gone back inside I called down, "Bryce? Why can't Leech do the spell?"

He was holding the ladder steady at the bottom and I dropped down surrounded by him. But there was none of the activity I usually associated with him. Bryce was still, calm and thinking. "It's ugly and complicated, Gillian. He...if I tell you it'll change the way you think about him. And it wouldn't be fair. It's mostly my fault, anyway. Just leave it alone."

"Okay."

Bryce looked down at me, and sighed. "Thank you for restraining yourself from running away. And I am sorry about Savannah. But my hands are tied on this."

"But you don't regret it, do you?"

"I've never regretted anything in my life. It's just the way things have to be."

He was serious. That was scariest part. "Even your father?"

"It's not like he would have been home that much more if he hadn't died. Do you want to get your books first?"

I nodded and walked back inside the house. I wasn't sure if I felt sympathy or jealousy. And that's when I started to suspect that maybe Paige and Lucas were just a little bit right about their being something wrong with me. I wasn't supposed to feel sorry for a Nast.

* * *

I felt like I was in a presidential motorcade as we drove down the street. When Bryce said he was calling in an army, he wasn't exaggerating. Six cars, each filled with ten men, all of who had been told not to leave for any reason, unless Bryce walked right up to them and ordered it.

An armoured car had been sent for us and I was squeezed between Bryce and Leech in the back seat. Grant was driving and Paulson was in the front seat. Bryce gave them a whole list of orders, most of which were to not let him get killed. Leech was also made their responsibility. "And the witch," he added. "She's not to get a scratch on her or I will personally watch as people use your intestines to wrap Christmas presents. And protecting Gillian goes without saying."

I stared at him a moment. He was looking impatient, tapping a strange rhythm against the window. Did I just hear that right?

"You're staring."

He said it carelessly, still staring out the window. It took me a second to realize it was throwing me simply because he wasn't looking at me. He always seemed to make eye-contact effortlessly, even if it was only to bark orders.

"I know," I replied.

"I'm not doing it for you."

I couldn't help smiling. "I know that too, Bryce. Doesn't mean I can't be happy about it."

"That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble, Gillian," he snapped. It was only because Leech was huge so I was practically sitting in Bryce's lap that I noticed the faintest of colour appear on his cheeks. "And could you not lean on my arm? There's a hole in it."

"Baby," I said, moving away. I changed my mind and kissed his cheek. "And you like my mouth."

"Shut up and teach me the fucking spell," he sighed.

He learned it fairly quickly and the rest of the ride was mostly me, talking out loud, trying to figure all the other possible deviations that could occur. I was trying to work out the correct translation for 'close' when the words evaporated and I found myself fighting for breath.

My arm shot out, stopping inches from Bryce's. He stopped the spell immediately. "That's low Gillian."

"You could just tell me to shut up."

"I do that all the time. You just never listen."

It was a very good point and we rode the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

Disembarking from the car was quite the production. First Grant had to be sure that everyone else was in position—that took forever. They weren't taking any chances this time. Heads were going to roll if someone else got hurt.

Only when everyone else was ready did Grant and Paulson climb out, taking positions on either side of the car. They actually walked right around the vehicle, to switch sides, so that Grant was on Bryce's side of the car. They opened the doors, talking into headpieces the entire time. Bryce pulled me out on his side.

I pulled my bag of books out with me. With the army of men in black suits I couldn't help glancing around for the cameras. This couldn't be my life—clearly someone actually important was about to be assassinated. But the men didn't go away. Good. At least this time we weren't about to be left in the lurch.

"Let's do this thing," I announced, turning for the door.

When the shots rang out, Grant had me down on the ground before I could blink. All around us, men scrambled for cover. Leech and Paulson came around to join us, and we all crouched behind the car.

"What the fuck," Bryce spat. "I am so tired of being shot at."

"Savannah's here," Leech said. "She's waiting by the door for us."

"You can walk up to the door. I'm going to stay here until we figure out what the hell is going on here." Bryce grabbed me by the arm and yanked me back beside him. "You're not allowed to put a target on your head, idiot."

"I just wanted to see," I muttered.

Grant was shouting orders to the others, while Paulson pulled this enormous black monstrosity out from the car seats. He pointed it around the van and began to fire.

"They're back," Bryce muttered, peering from beneath the car. "Fucking great."

The men from the other day were doing the shooting, while the knights from two days ago came out behind modern bullet-proof shields. Of course.

Bryce glared me, like it was all my fault people kept trying to kill him in my presence. I did nothing, trying to figure out how we could get inside without getting killed. It wasn't even like a distraction could work...there were just too damn many.

"If they come from the portal, shouldn't we be able to get rid of them?" Bryce asked. "Don't you have a spell or something?"

"We might be able to do something if the portal was open," Leech shouted over the sounds of gunfire. "But right now, Savannah's stuck right in the middle of it."

"What about the sewers?" Bryce asked. "Warehouses have to have drains, right?"

"How the hell should I know, dude? I guess. Maybe there's a back way."

Bryce heaved a sigh of impatience. "Oh, fuck this."

And then he began to cast. It was a familiar spell, I realized quickly enough. The one he had used back in the ravine. Glancing at the warehouse, I could see the windows shaking, the walls trembling. Bryce kept casting, fury feeding the magic. The men from the past began to panic. Wherever in the past they were from, they clearly weren't from Cali, with it's ridiculous earthquakes every other week.

With the confusion, the guards began to mow them down. I couldn't watch—sure they were trying to kill me, but that didn't mean they deserved to be cut down like that. I watched Bryce getting paler as he began scrapping the bottom of his casting ability.

Something exploded to the right and I screamed, huddling closer. That hadn't been ancient weaponry. Peering under the car, I could see a man in black standing by the warehouse. Twelve-Thirteen. And they had brought grenades.

Bryce finally stopped, gasping for air. There were still men in the building, but fewer. "Grant, you think you could teleport her inside?"

"Mr Nast—" Grant bit off whatever he was going to say. "Yes, sir."

"How close do you need to be?"

"Fifty feet."

Bryce swore. I felt it was time to help out. "If we can get the car beside the wall we should be within fifty feet of the container."

"You take the car then," Bryce said. "And bring the she-devil back." We shared a quick smile and then he turned to Leech. "Tell Savannah to get beside the portal."

"I'll do that," I interrupted. The communication spell was mindless at this point. I relayed the plan to Savannah.

All she came back with was, "That's fucking stupid. See you there."

Grant spoke quickly to Paulson, ordering him to cover Mr. Nast while their employer took cover beside a vehicle that wasn't going to drive away. I crawled into the car, following Leech. Grant slipped into the front seat and once he was sure the other two were away safely, he sped off.

We dodged men and trucks and bullets and I felt completely sick to my stomach. But I wasn't about to throw up just yet—there wasn't much in my stomach left, anyway. I ducked down as far as I could and tried not to think about all this carnage, just because Savannah had wanted to get Paige a birthday present. At this point there was simply no backing down.

Grant slammed on the breaks, inches from the sidewall. He moved to take my arm, but I gestured to Leech.

"I'm useless until he tells me where the portal is."

Grant gave a wordless jerk of his head and took Leech's hand instead. One second they were in the car and the next, they weren't. I stayed close to the ground, terrified someone would come by and see me. My fears were well-founded. I heard shouting and saw someone turn the corner, running towards me, gun in hand. I slunk further down.

And then Grant was back, his hand was on my back and suddenly I wasn't in the car anymore. I was back in front of the yellow storage container. Grant put a finger to his lips and I nodded. As long as no one knew we were here, they couldn't try and kill us.

Leech gestured in the air, pointing out the space where the portal mouth was. He mouthed, "Savannah's there," and I nodded. We thought it was best to have her in position when we tried the spell.

Even with our combined spell power, there was only so many times I could cast the spell without being completely drained. I had to make sure it would count. With Savannah in place, I stood in front of the portal and recited the spell from the necromancer book, words that should have closed the portal.

Nothing happened.

I swore, and I knew Savannah was doing the same. Leech and Grant kept watch. I tried a different version, this one with a few modifications that tried to take into account the half-closed position of the portal. That didn't work either. A mental survey told me I had probably three or four tries left. And then we were just screwed.

"There's no way you could try?" I begged Leech.

His eyes grew wide, frantic with worry. His head shaking, he silently pleaded me not to press. I didn't have time for this—people were dying and we were standing right in the middle of a trap. If things went south, this was it.

"Just try. Necromancy is in your blood, you can't just stop."

"Down!" Grant snapped and I obeyed unthinking.

I was too slow. A man crashed on top of me, bowling me over. He had a giant knife in his hand and I frantically tried to get away as it barely missed my face, biting into my cheek. Giant hands were placed on either side of his head and he was pulled off of me, where Leech's hands threw him to the ground at Grant's feet, as the guard brought the butt of his gun down. My attacker took the force of the blow right in the forehead and lay still.

He was barely older than me and my stomach lurched again. Savannah's voice filtered through me.

"Gillian, please, I need you to concentrate."

I brought my hand to my cheek, making sure the wound wasn't deep enough to scar—I couldn't waste magic on a healing spell right now. My fingers came away bloody, but the skin seemed mostly intact. And then the clouds parted and the sun shone down and the light bulbs burst on in a brilliant flash—I knew.

"Give me the knife," I demanded. "Savannah, see if you can't get yourself to bleed."

"What are you doing?" Leech demanded, even as Grant handed over the weapon.

I took it, ignoring how my hands were shaking. Even the Cortezes had never bothered to accuse me of cutting. But I could do this. For Savannah.

Biting my lip to keep quiet, I slashed at my forearm. It wasn't a deep cut, but it stung like hell and blood was burbling out of it.

"Leech? You paying attention?" I asked. I barely waited for him to nod. "I think I know how to get Savannah out of there. But I might not be able to close the portal afterwards. So I need you to make sure to tell Bryce that he has to cast either the second or third variation of the spell in my notebook. You think you can remember that?"

"Second or third," he repeated, then his brain caught up with his mouth. "What are you doing, Gillian?"

"Getting her out of there."

And before he could tell me how stupid I was being, I began to chant.

Someone had throw Savannah into the portal. Someone who knew that most people who went inside time tears were never heard from again—or if they were, it was a hundred years later. But she hadn't fallen through. And I think that might have been my fault. The spell we had used, blood mixed with blood, had anchored us together. To pull her out, I was going to go in.

I could feel something as I chanted, a warmth beginning to surround me. The room around me flickered, become a row of shanties, becoming an old cabin, becoming a great forest and then a small one, and a smaller one.

Smaller and smaller and then the whole world seemed to disappear inside itself.

...


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

...

"Four weeks! Four weeks without a fucking word! What am I supposed to do?"

The voice was familiar, so achingly familiar I wanted to cry. Or scream. I was in a room, our room, listening to my parents have the same fight they had every night my father was home since I was old enough to remember.

"It's my job, Lyndsay, my job," Dad shouted back. Like it meant something. Even now I never understood why he didn't just invoke his Expiscor and allow us to live without hearing all their stupid fights. But he never bothered. I pushed down my treacherous anger and tried to get my bearings.

I wasn't me. When I glanced around the room, it wasn't with eyes. But somehow I was there, watching me and Dana sit on the floor and listen to our parents fight.

"She needs to stop yelling at him," Dana announced. If I had a body, I would have been crying. There was my big sister, all of eight years old, combing out my younger self's hair like I was a human sized Barbie. "He won't come back if she keeps yelling."

Little Gillian nodded absently. She wasn't paying attention—she was thinking about the stuffed dog Daddy had brought back from his trip and how soft it's fur was...

"I'm going to name it Spotty," she announced. Dana laughed.

"That's a silly name. He doesn't even have spots," she pointed out with big sister logic.

Little Gillian frowned and I could say the words along with her. "But Daddy bought him at far away Spot."

"Don't be a silly Jilly. That wasn't it's name."

"That's not what Mommy said."

I cringed, knowing what was coming. Dana's taunt—because big sister's always knew better—was cut off as Daddy shouted down below.

"You fucking whore!"

"If my husband was home I wouldn't have to—Randy, get back here. I didn't—get back here. Randy!"

The shouting continued, but the tiny blond girls just stared at each other in the mirror. Finally, Dana got up from the floor and closed the door. The voices were still shouting, but it was muffled. Why, it could have just been the TV...

"He won't stay if she keeps yelling," Dana pronounced.

* * *

There was no familiarity anymore. One second I was watching Dana and the next I was in a strange room, much nicer than the previous one. I was watching a dark haired girl, ear pressed up against a door, desperately trying to hear what was going on inside. Her currently angular face was rounder, but I had no trouble recognizing Savannah. Her blue eyes were unmistakable.

A sinking feeling went through me. A trip down memory lane seemed even less pleasant now. If I could see Savannah's memories, could she see mine? Panic sprang up, suffocating me. It got worse, a whole lot worse before it got better. In fact, it didn't get better...

Little Savannah scrambled away from the door and tried to hide behind a well-worn sofa as two people came through. One, I immediately recognized as Eve Levine, if only because her daughter looked so much like her now. The man with her I didn't recognize, but I knew he was a client by the way he looked at Eve, like she was some sort of tool.

The man spotted the child behind the couch. "Who the hell is that? You said there wasn't going to be anyone around?"

"You're concerned about a kid? Stop being paranoid."

The student turned away so quickly that Eve and I were both left gaping. He had his hand on Savannah's wrist, yanking her to her feet, shouting, tell her she better keep her fucking mouth shut or—

That was as long as he had until Eve's mother bear instincts took over. I don't know how she managed to get the man off her daughter so quickly, but I frankly found it terrifying.

Little Savannah rubbed her wrists and as she cried she said, "Mommy, I can't see."

Eve grinned at that and slammed her fist into the man's face. Stepping back she cast an energy bolt, catching the guy in the gut. He was out cold, but still alive—Eve checked his pulse to be sure. She kicked him once in the stomach for good measure. Something cracked, but she didn't seem at all concerned.

Hurrying to her daughter's side, Eve kissed the tiny wrists. "Savannah, why don't you go into my room and put on a movie? I'll get us ice cream. With chocolate sauce."

"Really?" Savannah gasped, tears drying instantly.

"Really," Eve promised. "But you have to promise to keep your eyes closed until you get to my room."

Savannah hesitated, but the call of ice cream was too strong. "Okay."

"Good," Eve said and watched with a smile as her daughter slowly made her way to the door. The second it closed, the smile disappeared. Something bad had happened to that man and customers quickly learned if you fucked with Eve Levine's daughter you didn't have long to live.

* * *

I knew the next scene too well to want to watch it again. Desperately, I tried to break free of this, to find Savannah, but I couldn't seem to escape my state of nothingness. Savannah had to be here, somewhere, so I cried out for her, asking her to talk back.

There was no answer as Dana entered the tiny living room where a younger me—ten years, four months, and....damn, I couldn't remember the days, though I had been much more conscientious back then—was curled up on the couch, watching music videos.

"He's here again," Dana announced angrily.

"I know," little Gillian said. She knew too well, having caught them kissing on her way through the door. But saying that would just make Dana angrier.

"It's disgusting. She's so old and he's—I don't like him at all."

The girls were agreed on this front. Mom's boyfriend was big and hairy and always smelt like sausages. He pinched their cheeks and thought they were there to entertain him. He had none of Dad's quiet patience and he made their mom act all silly.

"At least she stopped crying," Gillian tried to point out.

Dana didn't like that. "It's like she doesn't miss Dad anymore. I can't believe she just left him. I can't wait until he comes to tell her off."

They had waited; they waited so long for him to come get them. And he never did. Not until he came to take Gillian to the funeral. But those girls didn't know that and I couldn't cry for them anymore.

The old familiar loyalty was sweeping through Gillian. It was their mother's fault for leaving, of course it was her fault, but Dad hadn't helped them either.

"We won't have to go back to the food bank any more if he's around," Gillian said, eyes still fixed to the screen.

They never talked about the food banks, but it was a source of great embarrassment. That was why Dana bit her lip and didn't answer right away. Because at least they didn't have to go back...

A giggle came from the kitchen.

"She's such a fucking embarrassment," Dana said bravely. She was twelve, swearing was no big deal to her, but she had to make Gillian see that this was very humiliating, the way their mother was carrying on.

Gillian, for her part, tried not to let it show how much it bothered her. She was used to hearing profanity—it was practically the only thing the Boyfriend knew how to say. But that didn't mean she liked hearing it used about her mother.

Dana carried on, "She better realize that soon or I'm going to have to do something."

"No, you don't have to do anything, nothing, baby, just stay," I babbled, trying to reach out, reach back, trying desperately to tell her now what I didn't know I had to say then. "It's not that bad, you have me, and I love you and you're safe, please, don't do anything."

"Gillian?"

Savannah's voice echoed and I tried to respond, as little me was slowly convinced that Dana had a good plan for getting rid of the dreaded boyfriend.

"What the fuck is going on?"

I thought the words, sending them out, "I don't know. But we have to stop it."

"I'm open to any suggestions."

* * *

I felt Savannah's horror, even before I could recognize my surroundings. Underground, a hallway, and a hell of a lot commotion.

Her panic was overwhelming and I knew then that shear power wouldn't work to get us out. If it had been at all possible, then Savannah would have done it by now. She did not want to revisit this memory.

Eve was casting a cover spell on Savannah as the elevators at the end of the hallway opened. Two men got out, talking, but not for long as Eve took them out without breaking sweat. That's when I realized what this was. Eve Levine had been placed under observation once in her life—she hadn't survived her escape attempt.

Savannah was screaming as Eve finished off the guards, pulling the younger Savannah back into the elevator, even as the girl complained about not being able to see.

"Try casting," I told Savannah. "The portal spell. Close the portal, stop the memories."

It sounded good in theory, at least. I began chanting with her, but it wasn't working. Eve was getting off the elevator and Savannah's casting came even faster, the words a massive jumble as she tried to will herself away from the scene. It didn't work.

Eve was hit a guard with a right hook, her back to the approaching danger. Savannah screamed as Eve turned just in time to see the gun pointed at her face. The younger Savannah joined the screaming as the gun went off and the bullet rushed straight at her mother.

"Mom? Mom? Mom!" I wasn't sure who was screaming only that the desperation broke my heart. There was nothing we could do. This had already happened. We were just passing through.

* * *

The screaming was from behind the door and it gave Savannah and I a chance to talk. I knew what this memory would be, had been afraid of its arrival since I saw the first one. So I tried to keep myself focused on Savannah and calming her down. It took a while, but she hated being weak and so she pretended she was fine as we tried out whatever spells we could think of.

Neither of us could see the other, but more importantly, neither of us felt our spell casting power deplete. No matter what we said, we didn't seem to be able to actually cast spells, just say the words.

I kept my mind on trying to escape ignoring the fight the twelve year old me was listening to from the top of the stairs. I could say the empty insults in my sleep. The mother/daughter fight happened every day for years. This time wasn't anything different.

That wasn't true. There were some differences. _He_ was lying in bed, naked, his amusement having been cut short by Dana's late arrival home. Mom was desperate to get back, to keep him happy, so he wouldn't leave...he'd been eyeing that girl at the grocery store for weeks now and she couldn't lose him...

Dana's words were slurred. Alcohol was not your friend when you had no body fat to speak of and she had been partying hard the past while. She even took Gillian sometimes—twice. Gillian didn't like many of Dana's friends, but a high school party was a high school party and she went every time Dana extended the invitation.

"It's not working, Gillian," Savannah sighed. "What now?"

"Dana says she's going away and not coming back. She doesn't need her. She hates her. I swear to god you're never going to see me again you middle-aged whore. Never again." I don't think my voice broke. "Then she comes upstairs."

I watched as Dana did just that. He came out of the room to console Mom, telling her that getting him off would help distract her. Dana didn't mean that. Dana was just a fifteen year old kid...where could she possibly go? All teenagers said stuff like that...

"I need you to focus, Gillian," Savannah said. She was trying to be helpful; she couldn't stay distracted, but she knew it was better if you could block it out. I tried.

Little Gillian didn't know what to say. Dana wouldn't leave her. Dana was her hero and Gillian needed her. Dana, where are you going? You can't go, I need you. Dana, this is stupid. Mom's just in a mood...it'll be better tomorrow, just wait...please...

"You're so fucking stupid, Gillian! It's never going to get better as long as he's around and I just can't take it anymore. I don't need her..."

There was a bag on the bed and Gillian was crying and Dana didn't care, caught up in her grand plan, finally spreading the wings her mother had been trying to clip for years. Adrenaline and alcohol ran through her system, pushing her onwards. She loved Gillian, but couldn't her sister see? If she stayed there, she'd become just like that bitch, the bitch who drove Daddy away. And Dana wouldn't be like _her_ in anyway.

"Right," I tell Savannah as Gillian grabbed onto Dana's arm, crying and begging her to stay. "Right. Maybe we should try more blood?"

"Unfortunately, I can't find my body let alone a—fuck!"

Dana slapped Gillian right across the face and Gillian finally let go. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...sorry..." Dana mumbled as she stumbled out of their room. Gillian could only hold her cheek and sob. And then Dana was running down the steps, Dana was opening the door, Dana was gone...and Dana was never coming back.

"Sorry," Savannah apologized but I wasn't listening. I was staring at Gillian as she stumbled backwards against the wall and collapsed, curling up into a tiny ball and waiting for someone to comfort her. No one came.

Sixty-two days later, Dad knocked on the door and told me Dana was dead. It took him four hours to convince me otherwise. I never forgave either of my parents. I never forgave myself. And I never saw my sister again.

* * *

Savannah informed me I was repeating myself and I tried to snap out of it. We were in a different house, yet again, and the chaos around us was overwhelming. Savannah took one look and shrugged.

"This was when Kristof tried to take custody of me and Paige and I just fucked up everything we touched. At this point I think he's killed her so I try and summon Mom to help and accidently summon every other demon on the planet before she gets there. And then I bring the house down."

Killing Kristof Nast. Whoever was picking these memories obviously didn't know Savannah very well. She didn't mind Kristof, but Eve was everything to her daughter. Kristof was inconsequential.

We tried more spells. Communication spells, first to Leech and Grant for proximity and then to Bryce because he was a fellow caster. Nothing worked.

"Maybe we just have to wait it out," I suggested. That didn't seem likely, but really, there were only so many horrible memories, even between the two of us. Savannah hated that plan, but she couldn't think of anything else.

"Wow, I can't believe I managed to summon that. Awesome," she said as the demon killed someone else. I sighed and tried not to watch the carnage, preparing myself for the next memory, knowing it wouldn't be pleasant.

The younger Savannah's pain radiated outward, but I tried to keep my pity to myself. Savannah didn't want it. She never wanted it.

Kristof was down in the basement, unaware that he was about to get beamed in the head when a house collapsed on him. There was more shouting and then I saw Paige coming down the stairs, younger and, well, chubbier than she was now. Savannah made a crack about her skirt as we waited for the memory to end.

"See, sweetheart? Paige is fine."

"You killed her! You killed her!"

Kristof tried to hug his daughter. I couldn't see why it didn't work, besides the fact Savannah liked being difficult sometimes. But then I caught a glimpse of the younger Savannah's unseeing eyes and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe Thomas has a good reason to hate his granddaughter.

Her hand went up and Kristof was flying through the air, right into the wall. He hit it, hard, and lay there like a ragdoll.

Paige was talking to the young Savannah who didn't hear her. My Savannah made no response either.

"Savannah," I repeated, fear growing inside of me.

"I really killed him," she said slowly.

"It was an accident," I said, echoing Paige. I knew it wouldn't make a difference, but I had to say something. "You didn't mean to."

"I killed him," she repeated. "I lifted my arm and killed him. He never said—he never told me I killed him." Her voice started to rise, filled with anger and guilt. "He didn't tell me. He should have told me. I killed him."

She didn't see the rest of the scene. Blinded by guilt, she didn't see anything for a long time.

* * *

Her pain was my life preserver and I latched onto it as the past continues to roll by. We watched my father trying to tell me Dana was dead and I ignored that and tried to tell Savannah it was okay. Her memories dissolved into fights for her life. Painful, yes, but nothing that rips your heart over burning coals. I was grateful—she'd had enough.

Kristof...she never actually thought she'd done anything. She couldn't remember, but Paige had said it wasn't her fault and Savannah believed Paige. That's what gave her the strength to look down her nose at her half-brother, because he was an idiot for thinking she had done anything wrong.

My memories just keep getting worse. There was my father disappearing and worse, there was my father being found. There were the nights I spent listening to him scream in his sleep and the day I graduated high school and came home and he asked me to help him...and I almost did. There was me going to therapy, lying as best I could, just so Paige would feel like she had done something for me, even though she never quite believed me. There was disappointing everyone I met, even as I hated them all because they weren't Dana.

And then, if possible, it got weirder.

I got old. Fast. My face was lined, my cheeks were gaunt...I must have been five to ten years older than I was now. I had no idea what this memory was. It couldn't have been real. Savannah and I had gone to plenty of graveyards together, but usually she didn't have to hold me up.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Savannah said.

"I couldn't talk to the bitch when she was alive, I should at least say something when she's dead." Gillian's voice was slurred. From grief and decay. I pratically looked homeless, my clothes were so awful, but my clothes were a hundred times better than my face. Savannah shook her head but said nothing, just pulled me along until we came to the appropriate grave.

It was my mother's.

At first, I didn't realize it was grief that I was feeling. In relation to my mother, it wasn't a felling I ever expected to have. But the pressure on my heart stunned me. I never wanted to see her again, but I didn't want her to die, either. Among the chaos and the screams, there had been some good times. And now there was...

My sorrow joined the cacophony of pain that was surrounding us. And there was still no way to escape it. The scene dissolved, my image dissolving into Sean.

Savannah was shouting at him—screaming, really. I tried to listen, pay attention, but it was a lot harder when it was her in the scene. I couldn't feel it as instinctively, didn't know the lines of the play. I could only catch flashes of what she was feeling, whenever my Savannah's rage and grief subsided.

The two siblings were fighting about something. I couldn't actually tell what as they were mostly just blaming each other—actually, Sean was blaming Savannah. For the death of their grandfather, it sounded like. Names flew back and forth, Thomas and Cain and Edmund and I didn't understand the half of it. It was ugly, especially since Savannah always seemed to portray Sean as the kind of guy who just couldn't yell at you. Well Mr Nice Guy was not only getting angry, he was getting hateful. Savannah was trying not to cry by the time the two siblings faded away.

There I was. Holding a baby.

The other me (future me?) was talking to her daughter, cooing and humming over her. If I had been corporeal, I would have thrown up.

I looked just like my mother.

Right down to the bullshit coming out of my mouth.

"I need you to know I love you, I love you so much," this Gillian said to the bundle, "I love you more than...more than you can possibly imagine. But I have to, because I love you. Even though it's hard, so hard. If your father was still—" Gillian was crying now, rocking back and forth. As if she knew who the father was. I was a very good actress—I could only hope my daughter wouldn't inherit that particular characteristic. "Your father loved you very much too...and if he was here I wouldn't be in this mess. But I can't take care of you by myself. I can barely take care of me. And this way, you get to have everything you deserve, everything you ever wanted. I want that for you. I want you to be happy. I'll be thinking about you, you know, all the time. And loving you, even if you never get to see me again. I hope they let—it doesn't matter. If I see you or not, I love you, so much, so much..."

She broke down again, clinging tighter to the precious bundle in her arms. Something inside me started to hurt, watching her. Because she loved her girl, even if she wasn't fighting for her. I could feel her love, see the old, worn face morph into something truly beautiful as she looked at the girl...what if my mother had loved me?

I think I hated her just a bit more.

A door opened and a women strode into the room. She was wearing a white nurses uniform and Gillian jumped in her seat. The woman was bad news.

"Please," Gillian said, begging already, "Please."

"They're here. They want the child now."

"Five more minutes. Please," Gillian licked her lips, keeping her daughter close to her chest as the nurse stepped closer. "Please, please, five more minutes. Just five more minutes. It's our goodbye, please, please, just five more minutes with him, please. I'll do anything, just please..."

Her cries rose, blending with Savannah's uncontrollable pain, the whole mess of emotion threatening to pull me under. I couldn't handled it. If I could tolerate pain, I never would have gotten into half the messes I did. But I hated playing the victim, yet again, so I fought back, struggling to stay afloat admits all the heartbreak. It was easier when it was Savannah in the next part.

She was lying in bed, half-dressed, beside the one and only Adam Vasic. It was her dream come true. Only I didn't think she had been dreaming about being upset as Adam lay there, unsure of how to comfort her.

"I have to go. She doesn't have anyone else."

"Maybe you shouldn't this time. She's always...it's not your responsibility to take care of her."

"Then who's is it? My brother's? You think I should just let him...how many times has he promised her he was going to fix this mess? And yet it just keeps getting worse and worse. She's getting worse, Adam, and I need to go."

"You've done everything you can—"

"But I didn't. This is my fault, Adam. My fault. I have to fix it."

"You can't blame—"

"Fucking watch me. God, Adam, just ask Paige. I got her husband killed. Ask her if it's not my—" Adam sat up, tried to touch her, but she shot across the bed like he had burned her. "I've got to go."

My Savannah quieted down a little. "I don't like this at all," she announced.

I agreed as the scene shifted yet again, so that a different me was sitting on a beautifully decorated bathroom floor, much nicer than any I had ever seen. She was wearing a fluffy white robe, hair wet, back against a tub, razor dancing across her arm. She looked ancient. I was guessing a combination of drugs and pain, but I couldn't make out much of what she was feeling, besides hopeless.

My life had been a horror show of dark times, but I had never felt like that before. I had never wanted to give up. I might not have had anything to live for, but I had never not wanted to before. But Gillian in the bathroom didn't even flinch when the razor slipped and bit into her skin.

It dropped to the floor, the sound of metal echoing throughout the room. A tiny drop of blood dripped down, staining the white marble tiles. She didn't even seem to notice, just licked her cracked lips and rubbed her arm.

For the first time since the scene began, life came into her eyes. The tiniest from came over her face and then finally a slow smile. The pain in her arm became known to me, a burning sensation that spread as I felt my heart break. Gillian was calmer now, though her hand had snaked to her chest, rubbing absentmindedly at the source of her pain. But the physical stuff had never been the problem. It was much better than the alternative.

The pain increased, her heart slowed, her heart stopped. She was too thin and too broken.

I could only feel her peace.

"This is fucking twisted," Savannah decided. "This—fuck. I'm not watching myself die."

"You really don't have much of a choice," I answered. It hadn't been that bad. I took one last look at my corpse and shook myself out of it. I hadn't I liked it. I knew I was too skinny, knew I wasn't very nice to my body—that didn't mean I liked watching it just give up on me. Even if it looked like I had given up on me a long time before.

"Fucking bullshit," Savannah muttered.

But Savannah seemed well enough when it shifted away from me and onto her. She was entering a house, calling out as she went, "Anybody home? I know you're here, Leech, I saw your damn car. So get your ass out here."

Leech's hallway was immaculate, no longer the renovation hell that I knew so well. Savannah peered into the kitchen, trying to call him out. She looked a little more tired, but nowhere near the complete wreck that I had looked.

"Stop pouting. I didn't mean what I said—it's just hard for me to listen to Bryce. I know I shouldn't have said...it's just...you didn't give me enough time. I still...I miss her." Savannah collected herself in front of the living room door, wiping her eyes until she looked normal. The impatient edge entered her voice as she said, "You're not a useless human. I take it back. Though I still think my brother's an idiot. Now get out here."

There was no answer and so Savannah pushed her way through the last door, rolling her eyes impatiently. Leech was home. But there was a good reason he wasn't answering.

"No. Not—no."

Savannah scrambled towards Leech, but I could tell it was already too late. The body hanging from the rope had long lost its colour. Savannah seemed to realized that too, stopping before she touched him, hesitating and then pulling out her phone.

"I hate you," she spit, suddenly. "I hate—"

She swallowed and began talking to the voice that asked her what kind of emergency response she needed.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

...

I found myself gasping on a warehouse floor, arms wrapped around a tall female body. Savannah.

She pulled away quickly, touching her arms to make sure she was alive, looking down at the ground, not making eye contact. I followed suit and then mentally checked my reserves of power. They were low—back to normal then.

Savannah's hand was shaking as she helped herself to her feet. "What happened?"

"I don't know," I replied. I glanced up at her and then spotted the two men behind her. "Leech!"

I flung myself at him and wasn't surprised to find Savannah following suit. He was warm and real and alive. Alive! It seemed like such a stupid, small thing—it strange at the difference that one word made. I felt the tears come, for everything I had lived through and everything I had seen, for the pain I couldn't stop and the pain I couldn't handle. Savannah was shaking beside me and we both clung to Leech for dear life, because if he was real than all that had just been a bad dream.

"I'm the one who said the spell," a voice complained from behind him. It took me a moment to place it. Somehow Bryce hadn't seemed to belong to the nightmare world, even if Leech had. "A little appreciation—"

I stumbled towards him; I didn't exactly mean to collapse against him, but my legs weren't working properly. He caught me, at any rate, warm and real and even if he didn't like me very much, he was never going to hurt me the way everyone else had. The tears tried to come for a second time, but I forced them down once again.

It was over, it was done. But—oh!—it hurt just the same.

"Thank you," I told him. "Thank you for getting us out of there."

"You couldn't have done it a little faster," Savannah spat.

Bryce shook his head. Whether he admitted it or not, it was probably pure luck that the spell had worked. I doubted he would have been able to light a candle at this point. He looked completely drained. "Remind me not to save your life again. Stop shaking, Gillian, you're freaking me out."

"Sorry." I tried to focus on business. "Is the portal closed?"

He shook his head so I tried to turn to the problem at hand. The only problem was that Bryce was a lot stronger than me. His arms were tight around me and I was too weak to make him let go. "Let her do it," he told me.

Savannah was already going through my journal, delighted for the distraction, eager as always too show off. It was probably better this way. I was a little too weak to cast anything, but Savannah had been storing up her power for a while now. All I had to do was tell her which spell and then I could lean against Bryce and just rest for a little while.

Not too long. I had barely closed my eyes before Leech announced, "She did it."

"Point for the Sabrina School," Savannah said, sticking out her fist.

It was a pathetic attempt at pretending we were okay, but I was fine with playing along. Bumping it, I forced myself to smile, to act like nothing had happened.

Grant spoke up from the background. I had almost forgotten he was there. "We need to go. It's not safe to stay."

Bryce took control. "Grant, take my sister back to the car. Make sure no one sees her. Paulson, get rid of these people and call someone down here to clean up this mess. Leech grab the notebook and anything else. Gillian?"

"I'm fine," I said, choking back the sobs.

"Bullshit. Close your eyes. Leech will get you out of here."

I did as I was told and sure enough the big man came over and scooped me up like I was a rag doll. I shivered, remembering how boneless Kristof had looked. I wanted to open my eyes, reassure myself that Bryce wasn't nearly angry enough to know the truth, but I didn't dare. He hadn't told me to close them as a joke. I was a witch, an anomaly, and he couldn't afford to have anyone know.

Leech would expect me to cry so I did. Bawled like a child, as a matter of fact. Dripping nose, shaky breathes, the whole works. I lost complete and utter control because you couldn't ignore your failings when they had been played out in front of you, live in living colour.

I heard the car come around the bend and stopped myself. Wiping furiously at my eyes, I dared a peep and saw it was only the three of us and Paulson. He took over driving when Grant brought the car around. Grant had to organize the dissolving of the mission.

"How many died?" I asked.

"Only two," Leech said gently. "After you stepped inside the portal everyone who was hurt just got magically better. Just the dead stayed dead."

I felt even more sick to my stomach. Because I could do math and as much as I loved Savannah, two was worse than one. Not that I wasn't glad—I was completely glad and I would take that deal in a heartbeat—but it shouldn't be easy. That was two more families that Daddy was never coming home to. More children like me that would grow up with blood money and nothing else. Yet...I wouldn't go back and change it.

I climbed in the car, followed by Bryce. It was only once I was inside that I realized I was located between him and Savannah. Great. Stuck between two stubborn, angry Nasts. The safest place to be.

"What the hell happened to you?" Bryce demanded. "You look terrible."

"Thanks, Bryce. You're such a charmer."

He ignored me in favour of studying Savannah. "She looks like hell too. I want to know what you did."

I laughed a little hysterically and let Savannah answer. "None of your fucking business. Don't act like you give a damn, Bryce." Because she couldn't handle that right now.

His arms wrapped around my waist and he forcibly turned me around to face him. His hands began to wander, checking for injuries. I tried to pull away and ended up hitting him in the shoulder. He didn't even flinch. That caught my attention.

"What happened to your arm?" I demanded.

"Leech told you. It stopped hurting." Bryce rolled his eyes at my sudden interest, but dutifully pushed up his sleeve so I could get a better look.

Under the bandage, the skin was perfectly smooth. No blemishes and clearly no scar. That wasn't possible. No matter how good Nadira was, even supernatural healing left a mark. I pressed down, applying pressure and that didn't seem to hurt him either.

"That's enough, Gillian. You're bony fingers are going to leave bruises," he complained, pushing my hands away.

"You didn't just heal, Bryce. You never got hurt," I said in wonder.

Leech spoke from the front. "I'll call around when we get back, see if anyone knows even the theoretical side effects of going inside a time tear."

"Either of you going to tell us what happened while you were in there?" Bryce whispered against my hair. I just closed my eyes and tried to forget. Savannah spoke from my other side.

"Sort of the a ghost of the majorly suck-y past. And hopefully not future." She shuddered as she said it and I couldn't help agreeing.

"You saw memories?" Leech asked.

"Bad memories," I corrected. "The ones you try and convince yourself never happened. And then future moments of extreme misery. It was fun. You should try it sometime."

"No puppy dogs and rainbows in your future?" Bryce asked.

"I think visiting my mother's grave piss drunk was actually my best moment," I sighed, unable and unwilling to keep the self-loathing from my voice. "I was pathetic."

"I let you," Savannah said. That had probably been the strangest part. Everyone always said I was going to fall apart. But Savannah wasn't exactly the sort of person to let me stay there. I would get better because she said so, or she wouldn't stick around. But she had. She had stuck around so much, she even left Adam.

"At least you finally fucked Adam," I pointed out.

She punched me in the arm as I laughed. "God, that's just wrong. He's like so fucking old and...god, did you see him? That chest...fuck me."

I giggled and shook my head. "Apparently, he will."

"As interesting as hearing about the sex life of my sister is," Bryce snapped, "Could the two of you focus, please?"

Savannah didn't like that. "Like I wasn't unfortunately way too well acquainted with your sex life. Let's see how you like it when I seduce Leech."

Leech blushed. Hell, I blushed too. Bryce just smirked and shook his head. "Focus."

"We saw the past. And the future."

"Actually," I spoke up. "We don't know if it was either. It might not have been the exact past. And as for the future...it might not be the future. It might just be what we're scared of or...or something."

"I can't see Sean yelling at me, ever. And Leech doesn't seem like the type to just..." Savannah broke off, but then resolved to spill everything. "You don't want to kill yourself, do you Leech?"

Leech looked almost guilty for a second and I felt Bryce tense beside me. But the bigger man shook his head. "No."

"And really? You can't get pregnant so why are we even worrying about any of this."

"Did I tell you I gained two pounds last week?"

"Didn't I see you throw them up the last two days?"

"Shut up." I glanced up and saw Bryce looking at me carefully. "Cut that out. Like you'd ever condescend to knock me up. You're too busy enabling me in the future."

Savannah piped up. "Then it's for sure not real. He's not going to fucking do that unless he knocked you up and he wouldn't be alive to let you freak out if he had."

Bryce demanded, "Am I supposed to be following this?"

I shook my head and tried to go back to sleep. "Nope. Just go back to being annoyed with me."

"Like I ever stopped," he growled, arm tightening around me. "We are looking into this."

I agreed, but since we couldn't do anything right that second, I just closed my eyes. Leech gave Bryce a brief overview of what we had to do to open the portal. There was an apology in there somewhere, but I was too tired to pin it down. Once he had finished, we drove in silence, only the radio Bryce ordered on making noise. There were things to discuss, final plans to make, but they could wait as we all tried to recuperate our strength. Eventually, Savannah broke the silence.

"Bryce," she asked from my left side, "How did your father die?"

He stiffened in the seat, body going rigid. "Excuse me?"

The radio seemed oppressively loud all of a sudden. Paulson seemed to realize this was not something he should be listening to and I watched as a window came up between the front of the back. And I sat between the two half-siblings and hoped they wouldn't kill each other.

"The autopsy," Savannah said. "They must have had an autopsy, right? During the investigation, they must have done one. Did you read it?"

Of course he had read it. The same way I read my father's deposition on what happened that week he went missing, even though he begged me not to, just so I would know how he got each debilitating injury, the same way Savannah had known every move that proceeded her mother's death because she replayed it constantly—Bryce had read that autopsy report, over and over, searching for some closure. I would have. And the way he flinched, the guilt that shot across his face, proved it.

"Can we not talk about this?" he demanded.

I tried to intervene. "Why don't we wait until we figure out what happened back there before we do this? They could have been fake memories or—"

"Anything you saw that hasn't happened?" She demanded angrily. "You trying to say your sister didn't try and beat you up?"

"Don't talk about Dana. And just because most of it seemed like it had happened, doesn't mean that—it doesn't mean that you should be bringing this up."

"I need to know how Kristof died," she announced.

"Can't you just accept it was an accident and move of?"

"No. We're getting to the bottom of this. Bryce, how the hell did your father die?"

"Why do you need to know?" There was a dangerous edge to his voice. I sat up straight and prepared half a binding spell. I wasn't sure who I was going to cast it on, but it didn't hurt to be prepared.

"How did he die?" she repeated.

"How do you think?"

"How did he fucking die?"

Her face was white, spittle flying, eyes wide. I curled unconsciously closer to Bryce. She was terrifying in her despair.

Bryce's voice was clam, deceptively calm, since he was still coiled so tightly I thought he was going to break. "He was bruised up pretty badly, all over, but they think that was done post-mortem. Broken arm, broken leg, three ribs on the right, one on the left—but again, done after he died, they think. They think what killed him was a blow to the head."

"Which part?"

It was surreal. They were talking like it was a just a matter of what to eat for lunch and not their father.

I closed my eyes as Bryce announced, "Back of the head. Something caved in the back of his head. Instantaneous. No pain," he added dully.

Savannah's voice was hallow. "So I did kill him."

"You don't know that," I burst out, before her brother could kill her. "You can't be sure. You can't."

Savannah's mind worked furiously. "Paige would know." The car stopped, but no one got out. "Paige knows." And then she burst out of the car, running to the house.

Leech had locked the door, but Savannah used an unlock spell and when that didn't work she severed the bolt. Bryce hurried out of the car after her and I rushed after them both, still feeling nauseous. Leech and Paulson followed me, before Paulson pulled up short. He would guard the perimeter.

I found them in the kitchen, Savannah dialling a number, cursing when her shaking hands didn't obey. Bryce was standing beside her, eyes blazing. But he really was a Cabal sorcerer. He would have definite proof before he choked her to death with his bare hands.

"She's just going to tell you the same thing she always does," I said, trying to grab the phone away. "She's just going to tell you what she thinks you need to hear."

Savannah eyes narrowed, but she acknowledged my point by putting the phone on the counter. She turned to me, hands out. "I need to know," she whispered.

"Will it really help?" Leech said, trying to gather her in his arms.

She jerked away and as one, Kristof's children announced: "Yes."

"You're father doesn't think it matters," Leech continued. "He's right here Savannah, asking you to put the phone down. The past is the past. He loves you and hates to see you this upset."

Savannah glanced at me, pleading. When I had the choice of knowing exactly how my father died, how fast did I take it? In a heartbeat. Had it helped? Hell no. But I couldn't deny her that mistake. I took the phone from her. "Put it on speaker phone."

Bryce hit a few buttons and gestured for me to continue. Did I really want to hurt him this badly? Not even when I hadn't met him. But Savannah needed to know and they said the truth set you free. Leech didn't like where this was going. "Gillian, stop. It was an accident. An accident, so just leave it alone."

"Leech, I love you like a brother, but if you don't shut up I will have you killed," Bryce announced.

"You all need to be quiet," I told them. Savannah cast a binding spell and Leech froze. I dialled Paige's number.

The thing about lying that most people don't realize, is that it's a skill like any other. You have to practice to be any good. Sure there are natural liars, but they hone their skills too, turning it into an art form. And boy had I practiced. Thanks to Paige, I had practiced. Because I needed to be what she wanted so she would stick around.

The trick was to say what people expect—they accept it without question. Things like this were more difficult. Inventing stories required a fine eye for balancing fact and fiction, the plausible and the impossible. I wasn't that good, but I did have an advantage. Most people thought I was telling the truth. And Paige was the type of person who wanted to see the best in people. Maybe I should feel bad, playing on this trust, but I didn't. I had watched both Savannah's parents die—I wanted to give her the truth, no matter how I had to get it.

The phone rang once, twice and then Paige picked up. "Hello?"

"Paige? It's Gillian."

"Are you alright, Gillian? You sound...." She searched for an inoffensive way of saying I sounded like I had spent the day sobbing while watching the worst moments of my life.

I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, Paige. Savannah got a bit of a fever and it sort of freaked me out."

"Is she alright? I can fly out—"

"No, she'd know I told you then. It's just, I wasn't sure if the fever was bad—don't worry though, I called Sean Nast, she told me too, and he sent a shaman over and he fixed her right up."

"That's good," Paige said doubtfully. I was too shook up for her to expect that to be the whole story. I didn't disappoint.

"When she was feverish—I'm sorry, it's not any of my business. I shouldn't have called."

"What happened, Gillian?"

I licked my lips and looked up. Savannah's blue eyes bored into mine, demanding I push this. "She was screaming all these things—half-casts of some kind and calling for Eve. Begging for her really. And she kept saying, 'You killed Paige. You promised and you killed her.' I was a little afraid she was going to summon something."

"And then what?"

"She broke my book shelf. Just stuck out a hand and the whole thing broke. At least it wasn't me, right?" I gave a fake little laugh and added, "And then...well, I don't really know how to say it...."

"Gillian..."

"Right. She said I killed him. She kept repeating it, over and over, just shouting, I killed him, I killed him. I told her she's never killed anyone, but she kept saying it."

Paige's side of the line had gotten very quiet. Leech was moving in the background, Savannah being too distracted to hold the spell. But he said nothing. I always thought he was clever.

"So I asked her who she killed. And then she just sort of laughed and said 'Kristof.' She was crying and laughing and I frankly didn't know what to do so I called Sean. She kept saying things in the background, 'killed Paige, you deserve it,' I don't know—it just scared me a little."

"That's understandable." Paige tried to laugh, but failed. "She can be intense sometimes."

"Paige?" I spoke quietly—I didn't have to fake apprehension about her answer. "Did she really...I mean, I know I'm being ridiculous, but she just sounded so sure...did she really kill Kristof Nast?"

Savannah stepped closer to the phone, but I held her back not wanting Paige to hear her. On my other side, Bryce remained frozen, staring at the phone like it contained all the mysteries of the universe.

"The investigation said it was an accident."

I gave a little laugh. "I know. I'm being silly. It's just...Paige, was it really? Did the house really just collapse and trap him in? Sean's been asking to see her and I don't want to say yes if there's even the slightest bit of truth in what she's saying. She'd never forgive me."

Paige spoke slowly. "The house collapsed on top of him."

I pounced on her hesitation, playing my trump card. "While he was alive? Please, Paige, just tell me the truth. She's the only sister I have left and I just can't stand seeing her like this."

The silence grew as Paige decided on her answer. I knew what it would be—I think everyone else did to. But we had to hear it first.

"She didn't mean to," Paige repeated. "She didn't realize it was him, not really. She just meant to push him away. She was just too strong."

"An accident," I repeated.

"An accident. She didn't mean to knock him back, certainly not with that amount of force."

"Thanks Paige," I said. Savannah's face was breaking, and anger was going to emerge dominant. Why hadn't Paige told her? Paige wasn't supposed to lie, she was a goody-goody. White-hats didn't lie.

"Don't tell Savannah I said anything," Paige told me. I promised.

Savannah spun on her heel and tore out the back. "What is with you witches and running?" Bryce snapped as the three of us hurried after her. I could have warned him, but he should have known better. Savannah never backed down.

Bryce almost crashed into her, as she stood on the back porch. The smile on her face made me take a step back.

"Hey, Bryce. I killed your father. What are you going to do about it?"

Talk about poking the angry bear. But that's the way she wanted it to be...Bryce evidently agreed with me. He looked at her for one long moment and then swung a fist right at her face. She barely ducked in time, stumbling backwards. With a war cry, she dove at her brother, knocking him right over.

Fight.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

...

"So much for not hitting girls," I muttered, backed up against the wall, in a pathetic attempt to get out of the way. Not surprisingly, Savannah and Bryce were both rather dangerous.

The cute little deck chair toppled over, though neither stopped trying to pummel the other into the ground. Leech tried to break them up and got clawed in the arm, right before Bryce rolled right into him and almost brought the big man down on both of them.

I pulled Leech back. "You can interfere if you see a weapon. Otherwise, at least this way they're only hurting each other." There was no point of risking our lives—they would have to stop eventually. Hopefully.

Twenty years without sibling fighting and it was all coming out now. Leech was staring on in horror as Kristof's children basically tried to beat the shit out of each other. They rolled down the steps, each trying to get the other to take the impact and then sprang apart at the bottom, beginning to circle each other like angry wolves. Bryce swung first, fists out like a boxer, pummeling her in the abdomen, but Savannah kicked out, hitting him in the shin and then right in the belly.

They both stepped backwards, clutching their stomachs. Savannah grinned—manically—spitting out blood as she taunted, "That all you got? No wonder he let me kill him. Who would want to stay around—"

He tackled her to the ground. Savannah shrieked and pulled his hair. Savannah was six feet and in shape but her brother was older, taller and stronger—not to mention the fact he hung around giants for fun. She had to use what she could. Bryce swore and pushed away from her.

Footsteps sounded. Paulson came around the corner, gun drawn. He took one look—the illustrious Mr Nast rolling around on the ground with a furious witch—and holstered his weapon. He looked over at me, wondering what the hell he should do.

I was a little less confident about leaving them to it, but it wasn't worth risking lives to try and separate them. Instead, I sat down on the steps and patted the seat beside me. "Pull up a chair."

Leech dropped down on the other side. "Kristof doesn't like this."

"Kristof's dead. It doesn't matter what he likes. Besides," I shrugged, "I don't see him rushing between them.

Savannah elbowed Bryce in the face, catching him in the cheek. He grabbed her by the head and dragged her, but she kicked backwards as she screamed, toppling him to the ground. He pulled her with him.

"I do have to step in if she tries to kill him," Paulson informed me. He didn't seem that upset at having to watch someone beat the shit out of his boss.

"She's been trying to kill him the whole time," Leech said. But that wasn't right. No, she was fighting back, egging him on, but she wasn't going on the offensive the way she normally did. She killed his father—it was the least she could do. And I suspected that Bryce wasn't giving it his all either. He was hesitating between hits, not pressing the advantages she gave him. Not to say that he was being gentle—she was clearly going to be black and blue. But in all fairness, so was he.

Bryce finally managed to get on top, holding her arms above her head, pinning her to the ground. Savannah screamed, teeth chomping, trying to buck him off. Her brother held firm. He snarled down at her, and when he spit it was red. The blood landed inches from her face.

Voice low, Bryce growled, "Get over it."

He stood up abruptly and walked away. We parted, making room for him on the steps. He didn't even glance down at us, just walked into the house, closing the door casually behind him.

Savannah lay on the grass, trying to catch her breath. A shout of frustration poured from her throat and her hands tore at the grass. Then she lay there, panting slightly and trying to figure out what to do next.

She stood up abruptly and without a word walked down the side of the house. I turned to Paulson. "You should follow her. It's probably not safe for her to be on the roads."

"Mr Nast—"

"Grant should be coming, right? And the house is protected." It wasn't my place, but someone had to make sure Savannah didn't kill anyone until she calmed down. I would be there then. "I'll clear it with Bryce, just, please...she won't want company but she can't object to a bodyguard. She's a Cabal princess, after all."

Paulson nodded. "Hell, he's probably going to fire me anyway." With a pleasant smile, he jogged to the front of the house. He didn't ask where she was going, but I figured he could probably track her by sound as long as she stayed on foot. Hell, I could still hear her shouts of frustration.

I smiled after him and then turned to Leech. He still seemed a little shell shocked. "Thank you," I said. "Back at the portal. For telling Bryce what to do."

"I should have been able to do it myself. I thought we were screwed." He sighed and then looked at me rather strangely. "You sent Paulson after her."

"It's better that way. You think I shouldn't have?" Not that his opinion mattered on this issue, because I knew Savannah better than anyone. But I could humor him for a moment.

"My nose didn't always look like this."

"I think it gives you character," I assured him, not quite sure where this was going.

"When Kristof died I told Bryce it was okay to cry. He broke my nose."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "I'm sorry," I said through the giggles. "Did you really think telling him it was okay to cry was a good idea? I mean, really? On what planet does that make sense?"

Leech began to laugh too, though he was a little more rueful. "It wasn't my idea. He didn't say anything for days and Claire—that's my...she was my girlfriend at the time—thought he was going to do something stupid, which was sort of given with Bryce. She insisted I say something. I was worried too, so I just sort of did as she said. I knew it was coming the second the words left my mouth, but I was just too slow."

"I can't believe you're still friends. Breaking noses seems like kind of a deal breaker."

"Yeah, well...it's not that I think he's going to hit you or anything, but I wanted you to know that. I would have stopped the fight. Not only am I powerless, but I'm also sort of useless."

"Don't say that," I said, but he wasn't listening.

"Someone needs to make sure he's all right." Leech's tone made it very clear that someone would not be him. Fine. If he wanted to wallow, I would let him. But first...

"Do you mind if I use your phone?"

* * *

My hands shook as I dialed the telephone, hoping while knowing it was just a fool's hope and I was a fool The dead didn't come back.

It didn't take me long to figure out that while Tia's mother appreciated my concern she had more important things to do. And none of that involved welcoming back the dead. I hung up and stared at the phone for a while, trying to gather the courage to do what had to be done.

What the hell was I going to do if Bryce decided he wanted Savannah out of his life? She was back in our world, was it really his job to be worried about the why of it all? If he didn't want to help, I wouldn't blame him. But I found myself hoping that he would at least let me try and convince him to keep helping us.

I walked down the hallway and found Bryce. The bathroom door was wide open as he cleaned himself as best he could. Already the faint outlines of bruises could be seen. He was going to be a mess tomorrow. Since this required healing and I was a witch, I decided to let myself in.

"You look like hell," I announced. His blue eyes found me in the mirror and he shot me an annoyed look.

"You going to help or are you going to talk?"

"Can't I do both?" I came up beside him and took the washcloth from him. He had already gotten the mostly superficial cuts cleaned, but a few spells could take care of the scarring.

"That was fucking stupid back there."

"You asked me just like she did," I pointed out, as I continued to patch up the scratches on his face.

"I wasn't talking about calling Paige. What the hell is wrong with you that you'd throw yourself into a time tear without any fucking idea about how to get out? That has got to be one of the craziest stunts I've ever seen, and I've practically made a career out of doing things no one else should."

"You got me out."

"Luck. What if you hadn't been able to?"

The thought of being stuck with those memories for every made me shiver. If I believed in hell, that's what it would be like. "But I did. Anyway, Cabals are only about results."

"This is clearly not official Cabal business," he dismissed easily. "You could have died, you idiot."

"What do you care? I might have taken the she-devil with me."

I felt the vibrations through his chest as he chuckled, hand brushing my hair back. "You are not nearly as amusing as you think you are."

"Liar," I said. He couldn't quite hide his smile and I found myself blushing, just a little. And because he was being sweet, I thought I should do something as uncharacteristic. I tried to be gracious. "Listen, Bryce? Thank you."

"For what?"

"Not killing my best friend." My fingers absently traced the picture of death on his right side. From the way he flinched, I knew it would be bruised tomorrow. "How are you doing?"

"Purple."

"That's not what I meant."

"What does it matter if she killed Dad or not? It's not as if I could hate her more than I did already."

"Liar."

"What does that mean?" When I tried to move around to his back, his hand came out and held me by the waist. "Gillian..."

"You told me you didn't hate her," I reminded him. "Or as good as. I just want to know if you've changed your mind now that you know for sure."

"I've been saying it for ten years. If anything, I feel vindicated. I was right. Sean owes me fifty bucks."

"You're terrible," I said with a smile. "Be serious."

"I am. I'm big on the forgiveness, don't you remember? Plus, my father helped her. If he doesn't care, why should I?"

"I'm surprised you don't choke on all that bullshit."

"I really did have no interest in getting to know her. Now I have to, if I really do want to forgive her. And it's too hard to be that angry all the time." He caught my eye in the mirror. "And who the hell are you to lecture me on lying, anyway? Do you ever tell the Cortezes the truth?

"Not really. No."

He wasn't content with that confession. "Is there a reason you're here and not with Savannah?"

His eyes were watching me in the mirror. I tried to keep my gaze firmly on his back. He didn't sound accusatory, just curious, so the truth just sort of spilled out. "I hate it when people try and comfort me. The only thing I can say to her is that it doesn't matter and that's a lie. It's better to let her cry in private."

He just said, "There are cigarettes under the sink, if you want." I nodded and he bent down and opened the cabinet. He even came up with a lighter. He passed over a cigarette—it didn't take the edge off, but it was a start.

"I can't believe you didn't just admit you smoked," I whined.

"Like you didn't lie about things that were twice as important." He did have a point, but I wasn't exactly going to admit it. "Gillian, what's with the accent?"

"What accent?"

"That one you sometimes have," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I finished cleaning everything I could. "I don't have an accent."

"Not now. When you yell, it doesn't sound right. I noticed it in the kitchen this afternoon but, yeah." That hadn't really been the time to say anything to me. "And back at the warehouse. When you're scared it's not—it's not that noticeable but it is there. I'm guessing you don't do it on purpose."

"I don't—fine. I have an accent. What do you want me to do about it?"

Bryce shook his head and then lifted me onto the edge of the sink so he could kiss me. I held still and then gave in, letting him distract me. When he pulled away, he spoke lazily, like this wasn't important. "I thought it was...cute. I was just wondering why you didn't have it all the time."

"I don't like the way it sounds. But I did live in the south until I was seventeen so sometimes I just forget to not talk like that. It just sort of slips out. If you tell me when I'm doing it, I can stop."

"I like it," he said absently.

"Well, you can be dumb sometimes."

"Touchy, touchy." But he punctuated his words with light caresses and I didn't mind so much. "Seriously, Gillian, occasionally remembering where you're from is not a bad thing."

"Yes it is."

I shivered because anything was better than remembering what had happened to me back then. I hated Georgia, hated everything about it and hated its last, tentative hold on me. My parents had been happy together, once upon a time, and then they moved to Georgia and it all fell apart, in a spectacular fashion.

"You'll grow out of it," he said eventually.

Unfortunately, while I hoped he was right, that reminded me that I hadn't always been completely honest with him. As my feet dangled in the air, I admitted: "Bryce? Just so you know...I only turned twenty last November."

"Thank God," he breathed out, trying to kiss me again.

"What?" Not that I had wanted him to be mad at me, but that wasn't exactly the reaction I had expected. He didn't seem too disturbed by the news; he actually seemed relieved. "Are you all right there?"

"Savannah told Leech you were under eighteen. There's no way in hell I'm almost a decade older than you but...it's nice to know that you really are legal."

"She said I was seventeen? And you still screwed me? I can't believe you would risk that. I could be some sort of psychopath. God, Bryce, you really are sort of a fuck up, aren't you?"

"Shut up. Like I'd let something as inconvenient as the law get in the way of what I wanted."

"If I remember correctly, I had to jump you."

"I let you." Bryce kissed me and I was suddenly sure this wasn't good-bye. He would help us. I licked his lips, tasting the faintest bit of nicotine. "And maybe it was just a little intimidating." I laughed and tried to slip down. He grabbed me by the waist, strong hands keeping me in place. "Take care of her, okay? I want to be the one who makes her feel bad and it's not fun if she's beating me to it."

"I would give anything to be like you and your sister." His eyebrows went up but he let me continue. "It's amazing how you always know what you want."

He kissed me again and then moved away to let me pass. As I hopped down, he said, "It's not as great as you might think."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe me. It makes it that much worse when you don't get it."

"I don't imagine that happens to you very often."

"Not very often, no. But sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"We're not talking about this, Gillian. So get on your way." He didn't sound angry, just final.

"See?" I called over my shoulder as I left. "You don't want to talk about it, so we don't. Everything you ever wanted."

He didn't say anything as I walked away.

* * *

I found Leech in the hallway, coming to tell me that Paulson had just called. Savannah had made him call a taxi and they were currently on their way to my house. It was probably deserted as Tia's parents were at home needlessly hoping and the other girls shouldn't be around.

The car ride was rather silent. Leech explained that Kristof had gone back to the ghost world to try and see what they could find out about the time tear that had caused Savannah to shift outside of time. Leech had been productive as well. He had contacted a few people about the time tear. There were only a few rumors about the phenomenon, but he reported them all back to me. The effects of time tears were negligible—it wasn't uncommon for the minor effects of time tears to disappear when they were closed. Sometimes even the major effects undid. I wasn't that lucky.

Leech also suspected that the un-fun experience of Savannah and I had more to do with us than the tear. Apparently entering through a time tear revealed the past, present and future—but amateurs had reported that it was guided by their emotional state to do so. He thought it was probably that our utter panic—hers when facing off with her attackers and mine trying to get her out—that had probably prompted the unhappy memory parade.

The men who had stumbled through the tear had probably seen the two of us closing it. That could explain why they had come after me. Could, Leech admitted, but not necessarily did. He would keep researching.

* * *

Paulson was hiding in the shadows of the front porch when the car pulled up. I only noticed him because he stepped out to greet me. Leech hesitated before driving off. Before I could get out of the car he finally said, "You shouldn't have done that. Kristof didn't want you to do that."

"It was her choice, not his," I said. Because that was the truth and also…I didn't owe Kristof Nast anything. I owed his daughter more than I could ever repay.

"I know you're not supposed to lie to the people you love but—"

"Sure you are," I interrupted. "But only when you know the truth will kill them. I think Savannah will realize it was an accident, eventually and I think Bryce needed to hear her accept responsibility for it. But you're right, I'm just guessing. If this doesn't work, feel free to yell at me."

Leech gave me a half-smile. "I hope it works."

"Me too."

He nodded and drove away. I hurried up to the porch to Paulson. "Have you been here long?"

"A few minutes. She's upstairs on a bed, crying. There's no one else inside."

"You didn't get into too much trouble for following her, did you?"

He shook his head. "Grant was actually pleased I showed initiative. I hope you don't mind, but I've been reassigned to watch over the two of you—Mr Nast seemed to assume you would stay here. Are you planning to or—?"

"I'm staying. By why do we still need you? Not that," I added with a smile, "I don't like having you around."

He laughed. "Thank you kindly. Not that anyone explains anything to me, but we still think our security might have been compromised. I don't think Mr Nast wants to take that chance."

I had hoped, but I was glad for official confirmation. He wasn't going anywhere, not yet. "Thank you. Do you want to come inside? No one will mind."

He stood up, stretching tired muscles. "You sure she won't?"

"She'll be too busy yelling at me to notice. And since you're going to hear everything anyway...come on in."

The door was unlocked and it was easy to get inside, even if it was hard for the two of us to walk down the hallway at the same time. "She's upstairs," Paulson told me, surveying the room with a little smile on his face. Much less grand than he was used to guarding, I would imagine.

"You can take any of the rooms, as long as you put it back the way you found it. I can't exactly afford to have anyone finding out I came back here."

Paulson nodded and I headed up the stairs.

When I blamed myself for my father's death, there was also the part of me that realized however hard I had pushed him back into his job it had been his decision to go into it in the first place. And that decision had cost me most of my childhood. The anger helped ease the guilt and eventually that had all faded into the proper sense of loss. But feeling responsible for your father's death and being responsible were completely different. I couldn't presume to know how Savannah was feeling. I could only hope I could take whatever she threw at me.

The door to my room was open and easy enough to find. In the cramped space it took me no time at all to cross to her side.

Savannah was lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling with the lights off. Only the moonlight allowed me to see, but I didn't turn on the lights. Tear-streaked faces and red-rimmed eyes were things I had seen too much of already.

Her voice was sandpaper rough, but it didn't break as she said: "Took you fucking long enough."

"I had to stop to screw your brother," I told her, flopping onto the bed beside her. It was a little too small to be comfortable, but I was a tiny person. I turned onto my side. "I could do you too. Might make you feel better."

She snorted. "You trying for a set?"

"And after I do you, there's just Sean and I'll have the whole trifecta."

"You'll have to count Sean out. And me too. Not really in the mood for experimenting." Still on her back, Savannah pushed me so I was lying down to. We stared upwards for awhile until she said, "I thought I heard you talking to someone. Please tell me the evil half-brother hasn't come to check on me."

"Even better. He sent a guard."

"The old one, or the one you keep flirting with?"

"Grant isn't old," I insisted. And I wasn't Paulson's type. Even if I had been, personally I was more interested in Grant, though I doubted the older man would be reciprocate. Not that Savannah knew their names. She never did bother with minions and it bothered me a lot more than I let on. "Paulson's the one that's here. He's an Expiscor, which means he can hear you."

"I don't care. Hey, does that mean he had to listen to you and Bryce—classy Gillian."

I blushed bright red. "Shut up. And fucking away your feelings actually does work. It's been scientifically proven."

Savannah half-laughed and then fell silent. I had all night. I waited patiently for her to speak.

"How is my brother?"

"Completely satisfied. Not to brag or anything."

"Gillian...."

I moved my head so I could look her in the eye. "How should I know? If you're asking me what I think...I'm not saying he's fine and he's going to look like he took on a wildcat and lost tomorrow but he seems alright. He was actually much nicer tonight...sort of. I mean, he called me an idiot, but for the most part the insults were pretty pedestrian."

"That's nice." Savannah's voice told me how insane she thought I was. "He's not...he's not furious?"

"I'm not a mind reader, but he didn't seem—I know you can't understand this, I wouldn't if I was in your place, but you were just a dumb twelve year old kid who lost control and you didn't mean to do it. He's smart. I think he gets that. He might even want to get to know his sister. But I mean, what do I know? If you really wanted to know what he thinks, you should ask him."

She snorted but I could hear the tears she was trying to hold back. It became even more obvious when she turned her back to me. I tried to give her as much privacy as I could. We stayed that way, silent, for a long while, but as I heard her begin to lose her fight with herself I began to talk, trying to distract her, trying to cover up the sounds of her crying.

"FYI, I don't recommend using sex to drown out the guilt. It just makes you feel more guilty. And not drugs, either. Drugs don't work and then you do stupid shit and then you feel even worse. Excessive anger helps in the short-run, but the long-run returns just kill you. What else...?" I tried to think of all the other stupid shit I had done. "Moving across the country, while fun, doesn't really help either. And running away? While it's my preferred method of coping just manages to get more people angry at you."

"So what do you recommend?" she sniffed.

I sighed. "I'm working on it. I've never tried shopping away the guilt. Maybe you could try that."

I felt my eyes burn with tears. I wiped them away furiously, knowing how selfish I was being. This was why I had been scared to come—because I was useless at making it better. Just ask Dana.

"That's stupid," Savannah said. "I don't have any money left. Lucas won't give me an advance. Maybe Adam..."

I snorted, then bit my lip waiting for her to yell. She turned over and punched me in the shoulder instead.

"Ow!" I whined, rubbing my arm. "Oh come on. You seriously can't deny you're in love with him anymore."

"Shut up," she muttered. Out came a slow release of air. "Do you think Bryce will tell Sean?"

"Once again, ask him. Do you think Sean will care?"

"Sean always cares." Her voice was breaking again. "I don't want him to think—I couldn't—"

Her hand found mine in the darkness, squeezing tightly. I couldn't be someone's life preserver; I could barely keep myself afloat. But I clung back because I was the one who was there and it was the least I could do.

My eyes burned and I felt a lump began to build in my throat but I pushed the words out. "He came to help you. Kristof came, Savannah. He helped you. And that has to mean something."

She was out and out crying now—and I couldn't help. I just sat there uselessly, unable to explain that it was okay, that nobody thought she was responsible, that it was alright. "It makes it worse," she said. "How could he possibly forgive me?"

"He loves you. He let his son break all sort of necromantic law just so he could stay around you for a little while. You clearly mean something to him. Hell, he died fighting with Paige over you. You have all these people who love you...it's incredible. You even have me, for the little it's worth."

"Worth shit all," she all but sobbed.

"Thanks." I glanced her way in the dark. "Do you want me to storm out of here in mock outrage?"

"Just shut up, okay?"

I could do that. It was all I could do as I listened to her cry in the dark.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

...

I woke up alone the next morning, still in yesterday's clothes. I really was a cheap whore. Laughing at myself, I was glad to find I didn't have to live out of my duffle bag anymore. I couldn't wait to do laundry. That's how you knew your life was messed up—laundry was not supposed to make you happy.

There were noises coming from downstairs, voices talking pleasantly. I was always a late riser and university had made me even more so. No doubt Savannah had been up for hours. Savannah Levine was the strongest person I knew, and last night had scared me. I silently promised her that if Bryce did tell Sean I would personally see that his intestines came out of his nose.

Savannah was crowing over a card game when I came down the stairs. Paulson groaned and threw down his cards. "You're cheating," he muttered.

"Prove it," Savannah demanded.

He pouted and then noticed me. "Good morning, Gillian."

"I made food," Savannah announced. "You have to eat it."

I plopped down on the couch beside her and stared at the burnt toast. As much as I hated food, I felt justified in turning _that_ down. "Did this catch on fire?"

"There's fruit in the fridge," Paulson told me.

"God, he spends the night and already he thinks he owns the place." But she was smiling. It was her way of saying she found him tolerable. Savannah was actually the worst person on the planet for acting unimpressed when she really was. But that was another problem.

"There are eggs there too," he called after me.

Savannah told him, "Just for that, you've got to play another round."

His groan carried to the kitchen where I found the fruit he was talking about. Two pieces, to be precise. An apple and something I think had once been a pear. We weren't big on the food. I grabbed the apple and went looking for cereal—I didn't think that could rot.

The newspaper that Tia and I had been playing with on Saturday was still on the table. Oh god. But on top of that was a card of some sort, black with white ink. Glancing down, my eyes were immediately drawn to the picture.

Thomas Nast?

I almost choked on the apple. It took me all of five seconds to read and then almost a minute to comprehend. Thomas Nast was turning eight-five. Happy fucking birthday. The party was this Friday.

Grabbing the paper, I marched back into the living room. "What the hell is this?" I demanded.

"Bryce brought it over this morning," Savannah said, not looking up from the game—war, if I wasn't mistaken.

"He came over and I didn't wake up to shouting and death threats? I'm impressed." My anger temporary faded under my concern.

"Honestly, I think he just wanted a quickie before work." Savannah chuckled and didn't even dodge the blow I gave her. "Seriously, we cast a privacy spell so Paulie here wouldn't overhear. I totally did it better than he did, by the way."

She glanced up at me and gave me half a smile. So Bryce had come over and they were both still alive...her eyes didn't look puffy either. I felt a strange surge of pride. I'd like to think Kristof would have been pleased. Bryce had come by to make sure his sister—the she-devil, the girl who had ruined his life—Savannah Levine was doing all right. Despite the fact his grandfather would probably kill himself if he ever found out. It was adorable.

"That doesn't explain why he thought to bring this over."

"Oh. That."

Paulson won one of Savannah's kings and she groaned. She still hadn't looked me in the eye. "It's the invitation to the party you agreed to go to with him. He just wanted to make sure you knew the times."

He hadn't said it was for his grandfather. I could do a lot of things but being within a hundred feet of Thomas Nast was not one of them. I couldn't go near the man whose callousness had unleashed Dana's killer. "You knew! Kristof must have told you about it. How could you? You know I can't—not Thomas Nast, Savannah. I can't."

"You want to make him pay? This is your chance, Gillian. It's perfect. Nothing you could do to him would get him as pissed as showing up to his birthday party with his grandson."

She had a point there, but I was a little too angry with her to concede it. My aversion to Thomas Nast wasn't something that should just be ignored. It was a deep rooted fear that she shouldn't have pretended didn't exist.

"He's Satan, the bogey man and Freddy Krueger, all rolled into one. You cannot be suggesting I go talk to him."

Savannah sighed. "I told Bryce you'd have a problem with it. He offered to let you off the hook."

"Really? Good. That would be very good."

Savannah spoke slowly, like I was slow. "Not really. Bryce made it abundantly clear that would just put us in his debt again. And it's probably better for all of us if we get away from each other as soon as possible. Less chance he can change his mind and have me killed."

"He wouldn't do that." Savannah looked at me in disbelief, so I pointed out, "How would he explain that to Sean?"

"Gillian, you know I wouldn't ask you to do this if there wasn't a good reason—"

"Yes, you would. But I'll do it anyway," I relented. I was just too used to following her lead. And the promise of revenge had perked me up. "I should tell Paulson how you're cheating."

"At this point I just want to finish," he said wearily. Us witches cackled.

"It's no fun if you give up, Paulie," Savannah drawled. "Tell you what, you manage to win and Gillian will get you off afterwards."

"Why must I always be the whore?" I demanded, flopping onto the couch beside her.

"Hey, I'm still pissed that you fucked the evil half-brother before coming to visit me."

"It's called a joke, Savannah. Look it up. Plus, did you see how fast I got here? I didn't stop for sex along the way. Though now that you mention it, I probably should have. I think yesterday earned me a little fun."

"Little being the optimum word."

Savannah and I glanced at Paulson and then burst out laughing. Savannah even shot me a look. "Why can't you ever like someone like this?"

"He has dopey hair," I muttered. Paulson reached up to fix his hair instinctively and I winked. "Shut up, Savannah. At least your brother doesn't think I'm jailbait."

"He should," she muttered. And then: "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," I smirked. "So what's the plan for the day?"

"Grab clean clothes, investigate the Coven that started this whole fucking mess and..." Savannah Levine blushed and when she spoke—reluctantly, because she had to know I would tease her mercilessly—she said, "Call Adam."

I giggled and she threw a pillow at me. I drove her absolutely nuts by never letting her forget she was hopelessly in love with Adam Vasic, who had grown up with Paige, which made him something like thirteen lucky years older. Everyone else knew she loved him—even Adam, I think—but they tried to ignore it. I didn't. It was the one thing on the planet Savannah was too scared to go for.

"Why do we need to talk to Adam? Besides your all-consuming desire to hear his voice?"

Savannah sighed and explained the plan properly. Bryce was enlisting the Nast Cabal to help figure out how a time tear appeared, when the they were supposed to be impossible. Since figuring out the time tear and whatever was going on with Nast communications was going to take up too many resources, Bryce said she could help by tracking down the witches she had fought in the first place. Savannah had agreed.

"How did you get him to agree to that?" I asked, surprised. Bryce always seemed to take safety seriously, whatever else he was doing. "He just said okay to let us going hunting for fun?"

Savannah shrugged. "Well, we have to take Paulie along with us. It took awhile for him to let me keep the cute one, but I wore him down in the end. And I have to call if anything terrible happens—honestly, he's worse than Paige." But she sounded so happy when she said it, that I knew she really didn't mind. "Oh, and I have to take you shopping."

"Shopping?" I couldn't help laughing. "What?"

"For that thing you have to go to. We have to get you properly decked out, unfortunately. It's very important you look nice. So I offered to take you. He gave me his credit card. Complete access to the Nast family fortune." That didn't seem safe at all. "Take that," Savannah laughed, taking Paulson's last card—a four—from his outstretched hand. She smirked. "Now you owe me."

Paulson gave her a long once over. "I suppose if Gillian offered to distract Mr. Nast..."

"Oh you deserve her," I snarled, getting up from the couch. They laughed and I couldn't help but grin. It was good to have Savannah back, even if she was a corrupting influence. Throwing out my apple, I heard Paulson promise to start the car and the door shut behind him.

Savannah walked into the kitchen and took out a box of orange juice. Drinking straight from the box, she watched me carefully as I played with the invitation. I could do this—it might even be fun. Making Thomas uncomfortable was the least I could do to the man.

"Gillian...about yesterday."

I blinked in surprise. It went against every rule we had, who we were to...we didn't talk about things. We simply, wordlessly, agreed to be there.

"Since we spent last night...talking about what we saw about me, I figure I should at least ask if you were okay. Those were some pretty shitty memories."

Talking? Is that what it was called? After Savannah cried we basically just lay there for the rest of the night. But whatever she wanted to call it.

"I think that was the point. But least they're only memoires," I dismissed them. I had to. Examining the past was for people braver than I was.

"Your sister...she was different than I expected."

"Different?" I found myself dangerously angry. "What do you mean?"

Savannah shrugged and put the orange juice away. "Just different. Not the way I pictured her from your descriptions."

"You were seeing her at the worst moments of her life," I snapped. "She wasn't always like that. She was kind and sweet and—"

"I didn't mean anything," Savannah interrupted. "Just different. Shit, I'm going about this all wrong, aren't I? I just wanted to...I got Bryce to promise you could pick out whatever the hell you liked."

I smiled and the two of us began walking to the door, arguing the best way to spend her brother's unlimited money. I didn't say 'you're welcome.' But we both understood, anyway.

* * *

Savannah climbed into the car and gave Paulson the directions to Penelope Yi's house like it was nothing. Her desire to drive—a Nast company car that Bryce had brought over that morning—had diminished the second she realized she could get a real live chauffer out of this deal. It felt sort of awkward, the two of us sitting in the back of a bullet proof car while Paulson sat alone in the front, but Savannah dismissed my worries easily. He could still hear us perfectly was her rational, and Paulson agreed with her. Outvoted, I still thought it was a stupid plan.

It might have seemed sort of naïve to think the Yi had stayed in place after her altercation with Savannah, but it didn't hurt to check. It was a place to start, anyway. Yi might even still be there. If the woman was stupid enough to boast about a highly desirable power she didn't actually have, I doubted she would realize that once you were on Savannah's radar, there was just no escape.

The house Paulson drove us to was in a well-to-do, though not obscenely wealthy like parts of L.A. could be. On the outskirts, it was fairly large, though Savannah assured us Yi didn't have any family. I decided to proceed cautiously anyway. Who knew what important detail Savannah had forgotten this time?

"Do you hear anything?" Savannah asked.

Paulson shook his head. "Nobody's home. Even the houses around us are pretty deserted. Next door there's someone in the backyard and on the other side there's some communal shower taking going on. I don't think anyone's going to notice if you walk on in."

"Excellent," Savannah Mr. Burns-ed and then distributed plastic gloves. Because even supernaturals had to be careful about fingerprints when breaking and entering. "Right. So does she have an alarm system?"

Paulson looked to me for an answer and then realized he was the one being asked. "How should I know? I'm a bodyguard, not some mid-level contract employee. I don't break and enter."

"God, don't have a cow. I'm sorry I offended your delicate sensibilities." Savannah turned to me, puzzled. "So how do we know if she has a security system?"

"You're the one who tracked her down before," I pointed out.

"And I didn't confront her in her house because I didn't know _if she had a security system_," Savannah snapped. "Great, what do we do now?"

I shrugged and got out of the car. "Hope she doesn't have one."

"And if she does...?" Paulson asked, trailing along behind the two of us, watching and listening for potential threats.

"The plan better not be run away quickly," Savannah sighed.

"I am able to do other things," I mentioned. "But no, the plan is not run away. The plan is..." Savannah muttered the unlocking spell and wretched open the door. No alarm sounded. Paulson shook his head, to tell us he hadn't heard anything go off that we couldn't. "...be really be glad I didn't have to think of a plan."

Savannah glared but walked into the house. I would have thought up something. I swear. But it was better all around that I didn't have to.

The house was just as modestly nice as the outside suggested. Nothing too opulent, but nothing cheap either. Glancing down at the shoes on the mat, I couldn't help but notice there were not only high heels, but black male loafers and a tiny pair of running shoes, the size three label slightly faded on the sole of each. I glared at Savannah.

"No family, huh?"

"It doesn't matter," she pointed out pragmatically. "You check the bedroom. I'll take the living room. Paulie, how does being on guard duty sound?"

"Like a plan."

I agreed and began walking down the hall in search of the bedroom. That's when I realized something wasn't as it should be. "Savannah? Why weren't their wards? Or trap spells?"

Savannah turned around at the end of the hall, trying to think. "Maybe she really did take off. We'll worry about that when we don't find anything."

"Dumb plan," I called after her as I began searching down the hallway. The first three doors were a closet, a bathroom and another closet, respectively. Closets were a perfect place to hide things as I well knew, so I stopped to look at them. That was why I was close enough to hear Savannah say:

"Well, fuck me sideways with a broomstick."

The imagery I could do without wasn't anything new, but I followed Paulson as we both went to see what she had found.

She whirled around when she saw us, her face paler than usual. "Gillian, you shouldn't—"

Too late. On the other side of the couch, sprawled out in some horrific tableau was Yi and her family. She lay parallel to the couch, her face up, showing off the damage it had sustained in some sort of fight. Her chest was gaping open—a red and black chasm—and blood coated the ground around her. On the table that separated her body from those of her husband and child lay a single heart.

Father and daughter had been killed quickly, only a few feet away. From the angle of their heads, I felt justified in guessing a single twist of the neck had killed them. It wasn't the heartless body of a fellow witch that made the apple in my stomach threaten to come tumbling out—it was the way the tiny little girl was still slumped in the corner. Dark hair still perfectly in place, shoes perfectly laced, she looked more like a tiny doll than a corpse. They had been dead long enough that any tears would have dried, but I bet she cried as she watched her mother fight to her death.

"At least they can't mad at us for breaking in," Savannah said. "Gillian, don't throw up."

My stomach heaved and I took deep breaths to try and calm it. It worked, but I didn't think that was a good thing. You weren't supposed to get used to things like this. They were supposed to break your heart every time. It didn't matter that she had tried to attack Savannah only days ago—if we all got what we deserved the world would be a much scarier place. And that little girl was innocent. But I wasn't surprised. The innocent got cut down first; the rest of us just picked up the pieces.

"I'm not going to," I assured Savannah, forcing confidence I didn't feel into the words.

"Good," she nodded. "I guess we shouldn't touch them."

"I don't think it's safe to stay here," Paulson said. "I don't do crime scenes, but that blood looks fresh. I don't want to take the chance whoever did this is going to come back."

I shivered but Savannah shook her head. "The whole family's here, so it must have been earlier in the morning, before anyone left for work or school or whatever. You create this kind of carnage, you want it to be found. No one's going to come back to clean up. And this is clearly supernatural. The Cabals will hush it up, later. They won't bother us."

I had to agree and Paulson relented, though he clearly did not like it.

We went back to work. I know it sounds callous, but we did need to figure out what Yi and those three others had been up to. I soothed my conscious by telling myself we might be able to find out who had killed the Yi family this way. It was the least we could do. Another torn out heart couldn't be a coincidence. And if it was...I was moving out of Los Angeles so fast.

The closets lacked secret compartments of any sort. I didn't find any in the bathroom either. I met up with Savannah in the master bedroom. We didn't say anything, just combed through looking for hidden treasure. Nothing.

Savannah took the office and I took the child's room—Olivia's room, the door declared. The floral wallpaper almost made me sick, but it had to be done. I let myself take thirty seconds to rest on the carpet, just to make sure I was in control.

The bottom shelf of the bookshelf wiggled gently as I brushed my hand over the books. Removing them—_The Very Hungry Caterpillar_, among others—took only an instant. The shelf came right off.

Nothing.

With a sigh, I replaced the books, glancing around the room one last time. How could she do this? How could you risk your own child? Wouldn't you get out? Wouldn't you turn down their money and promises in order to get home on time? How could she have ignored what she was doing to her daughter? What kind of parent did that? How bad would everything have to get before I did that?

I furious at this stranger, glad her heart had been ripped from her. She had led her own flesh and blood up to the alter and she hadn't given a flying fuck. I glanced around the room, hating the smiling pictures, hating the carefully hung decorations, hating all the little lies that made it that much easier for him to tell himself he was doing the right thing leaving us all the time...

"You find anything?" Savannah called down the hall.

"No," I shouted back. Hastily, I got back to work. I looked behind the bookcase, under the bed, in the dresser (ignoring the tiny clothes), inside the closet, behind the pictures on the wall...

"Jackpot," I cried.

Savannah came running and even Paulson came. Behind the picture of a family vacation that that didn't begin to make up for anything, there was a safe. Savannah frowned when she saw it, but her eyes lit up when Paulson came through the door.

"I know you said breaking and entering isn't your thing, but..." Savannah arched her eyebrow.

Paulson grinned. "I may know a few tricks. It's always better to stand out of the pack."

Savannah eagerly watched as Paulson set to work, already sensitive ears pressed against the cool metal. It wasn't anything extraordinary. All half-demons had their talents and if you were smart you used them properly. That's what Dad used to say, coming home and complaining about the new kid who had stupidly forgotten to use his powers at the opportune moment and had lost the sale. It was kind of neat seeing someone crack a safe.

"Got it," Paulson announced. But he made no move to open it. Smart man.

Savannah got to work muttering spells to counter-act whatever wards Penelope Yi might have put up. I recognized most, but there were a few near the end that were different than anything I had been taught. I wondered if Paige knew what her ward was learning. Finally, she announced Paulson could go ahead.

With a deft twist, Paulson opened the metal box. Nothing sprang out at us, which I took as a good sign. Savannah quickly reached inside.

"Empty," she announced. "What the fuck?"

Either they had stopped using it or...or someone had beat us to it. Savannah swore some more, but I wasn't paying attention. I bent back down to the bookshelves because _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ shouldn't have been quite that thick. It was an old trick, but one that most people thought was too juvenile to actually work in real life.

Once I was looking, it was easy enough to notice the other books with pages that were much older than they should be. I handed one of the books to Savannah who crowed out, "Score one for the good witches."

Savannah quickly sat on the floor and began skimming a grimoire. I kept flipping through the bookcase. I finally came across something that I first thought was a diary. All the handwritten notes suggested that. But then the medical terminology began to jump at me. Slowly it dawned on me it was a patient file. I was fairly certain doctors weren't allowed to take patient information home. There was no names, only initials. I settled down to read more, when Paulson interrupted.

"There's someone walking up the driveway."

We quickly gathered the papers together and stuffed them into the bag Savannah had brought. She complained, "I better not be stopping for the mail man."

"He's turning the door handle," Paulson whispered.

I glanced at Savannah and we realized neither of us had bothered to lock the door behind us. This was not good. Savannah began flexing her wrists, preparing to go into battle. Both our eyes were on Paulson as he silently mouthed what he could hear.

"Going through the kitchen, dining room, living room. Waiting for something."

You didn't go into a roomful of bodies and stayed there unless you knew to expect them. I could tell Savannah had made the same conclusion, for she handed me the bag. She fought, I carried the research. At least we had a system.

Paulson grabbed her wrist, but she was prepared for that. He was in a binding spell before he could blink. I mouthed "I'm sorry" as I quickly followed Savannah out of the room. She would let the binding spell break soon enough. Until then, I was going to watch her back.

We crept down the hall, Savannah getting ready to cast another binding spell. Spells were great and everything, but they did take a while to cast. In a fight, it was better to surprise your opponent. That way you could start the spell beforehand, like Savannah was doing now, and launch it before anyone could fight back.

She spun around the corner, ready to face off and cast the rest of the spell. I poked my head out to see what she had caught and couldn't believe my eyes.

Ken was still in town.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

...

"You again," he said in a booming voice that was not of this world. He was supposed to be in a binding spell.

"We're going now," I called, running towards Savannah to pull her out of there before she had to face the fact that she was horribly out matched.

She cast an energy bolt and Ken stumbled, almost like he had tripped. Eyes flashed as he righted himself. He picked up the end table near him and flung it at us.

We both dropped and the table flew over us, smacking into the wall behind us, sending splinters everywhere. I grabbed Savannah's arm and began dragging her towards the exit. Paulson finally came around the corner, took one look at the scene and invoked the only offensive Expiscor power he had.

My father called it the 'rock concert power' when I was little. Basically, the half-demon tried to blow out people's eardrums. Apparently, it worked on demons too, as Ken dropped to the ground, screaming and clutching his ears.

Savannah and I scrambled towards the exit and Paulson rushed to help us. None of us noticed the living room lamp until it was nearly too late. Savannah pulled me down, but Paulson got clipped right across the chest.

"Anti-demon spell," I shouted at Savannah as Ken staggered to his feet. I rushed to Paulson and to my relief saw that he was only stunned. The demon must have been in more pain that I realized because usually they could usually throw things with enough force to break bones, as the wall could attest to.

Savannah cursed and seeing Ken continue to come towards us, I knew the spell had failed. The three of us dragged each other out the door. The bag banged against my legs as I looked towards Savannah to do something.

She sent an energy bolt, dodged the flying picture frame and then sent another. Ken stumbled again, slowed down but not stopped. You can't kill a demon. It's not possible. But that didn't mean Savannah was going to just give up. She might not have the strength to launch another anti-demon spell, but she had other tricks up her sleeve.

I cast my own energy bolt spell to buy her the time. We were mostly buzzing around the demon like flies—he couldn't kill us, but we weren't doing much beyond annoying him. Savannah began casting a high-level witch spell, something I only vaguely recognized. I didn't bother translating the words, just concentrated on dodging the furniture and casting energy bolts.

All of a sudden Ken stopped, as if frozen in place.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "It worked! Let's get out of here."

I grabbed for Savannah, but she shook her head, puzzled. "That wasn't me. I was trying to turn his legs to ice."

Apperently that hadn't worked, because instead of standing still Ken just walked straight out of the glass doors and right into the backyard.

Savannah moved as if to follow, but even she knew that was a bad idea. With a glance around at the catastrophic destruction we had reeked, she turned to me. "Is it just me, or was that really weird?"

Paulson grabbed both our arms and began pulling us out of the house. "We are not staying here any longer. Let's go."

We rushed to the car, using a combination of distortion spells and crossing our fingers and just hoping no one saw. Paulson waited until we were in the car before he began to talk. Well, yell. "What the hell? Are you nuts? If either of you do anything—"

"Chill, Paulie. We're not going to tell my brother how you failed to protect us. It'll be our little secret."

I think Paulson would have killed her, only he was temporarily rendered speechless.

* * *

Savannah managed to calm Paulson down eventually—we had survived after all. Add that to the fact that she managed to praise his contributions to our escape (okay, so maybe that was the wrong word) to the heavens, and he was eventually able to settle for a few promises that we would never, ever, do anything like that again.

If I had been ten years younger, I would have crossed my fingers behind my back. Savannah was going to do crazy shit that no one should ever attempt and I was going to follow her. She would succeed due to some strange circumstances and I would patch up any bruises before Paige noticed. Like I said, we have a system.

I waited until we were well away before I mentioned, "We should probably call Bryce."

Paulson jerked his gaze to the rear-view mirror, wondering if I was serious. Savannah leaned over and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Gillian will make it sound good somehow."

Her faith in me was actually quite touching.

There was no need to convince her. The demon shouldn't have done that, and we were now pretty sure that Ken was involved with this whole time tear fiasco which meant the Nasts needed to know. She took out her cell and dialled. After a while she started cursing.

"He's not picking up his cell," she announced to the car at large as if we could do something about it.

"Mr Nast never answers his cell when he's at the office," Paulson told us.

"He works?" I couldn't help from blurting out.

Savannah shrugged. "Only when he wants to. One of the joys of being the inner family." It went without saying that this did not apply to Savannah. Paige was big on hard work. And while Savannah should have been part of the Nasts...not even sort of getting along with her brother made up for that.

Paulson offered: "Call his office. Even if he's not in, they'll take a message."

Savannah handed me the phone. "It's probably better if I don't. Gramps might answer and then we'd just be fucked."

I wanted to tell her how ridiculous she was being, but there was a grain of truth in what she was saying. I took the phone and dialled the numbers Paulson gave me.

"Hello?"

Of course, he had a female secretary. He was such a cliché. I would have bet good money that he had already slept with her.

"Hello. May I please speak to Bryce Nast, please?" I hated the pompous tone my voice had taken, but I had to do what I had to do to get through.

"May I ask who's calling?"

"It's...Savannah Levine." The real Savannah snorted and looked at me as if I was crazy. It was better this way. The secretary might think Savannah was calling on business, or per Sean's orders. Though I'm sure the secretary was used to strange women calling for Bryce, I did want to make sure she put me through. He never would have thought to screen calls from his sister, being as before the beginning of the week, he never thought they would ever actually talk.

"One moment please."

Light, fluffy, uber-boring music came over the speakers as I was put on hold. With all their money, you would think the Cabals could afford better.

A few moments later, a familiar masculine voice came over the speaker: "Hello?"

"So we ran into a problem."

"Hello to you too, Gillian. You're still alive?"

Did his voice sound affectionately amused, or was I projecting? "Yes, as a matter of fact. So don't be too mad."

"Why do I not like the sound of this?"

I proceeded to tell him what had happened. Sort of. Maybe it came out so that we stayed safely hidden—thanks to Paulson—while the demon cleaned up the bodies. It was as he was moving Yi around that he suddenly froze and just dropped her there, instantly stopping what he was doing and walking out the back door. "And then we snuck out the front door and called you," I finished.

He sighed. "So exactly how much of that was bullshit?"

I blushed a little. I would have told the truth, but Paulson was in the front seat and we had promised. "It's close enough so that you know what's going on. Trust me, Bryce, it's better if we just leave at that."

I don't think he liked doing it, but he dropped it. "So the she-devil is fine too?"

"Your sister is fine, Bryce. You want me to put her on the line?"

He agreed and the two siblings began to talk (argue, whatever). Savannah spent most of the time protesting that she knew what she was doing and he couldn't stop her anyway. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but Paulson kept laughing silently to himself.

"Really?"

Savannah was practically squeaking. She listened for a few more seconds. "That would be awesome. Deal. We'll spend the rest of the day in the mall. No, I'm not lying." She held up two fingers and crossed them. "We'll be good. Promise."

"What was that about?" I asked when she hung up.

She grinned evilly. "I promised we'd stay away from case. But I figure we research at your house and then hit up any leads afterwards." My agreement being obvious she turned to Paulson. "What do you say, Paulie?"

"I feel its long past the time when I should point out that it's Mr Nast who pays my salary. As gorgeous as you two ladies are, he's the one I answer too."

"What he doesn't know he can't fire you for," Savannah said with a shrug. "And I doubt he'd be very happy if I told him you made me cry."

"Threatening the minion. Classy," Paulson muttered. At least he had a sense of humour about it. "Well, I expect he'll be so angry with you he'll forget all about killing me."

"That's the spirit, Paulie," Savannah grinned.

* * *

First off, back to me house for more research. This was Savannah's least favourite part of any job. She could kick ass like no one else—she had pretty much single-handedly kept a demon away from us—but asking her to sit around just made her antsy.

Savannah pronounced the grimoires only full of healing spells, which meant she handed them over to me. I could browse through them later and hopefully pick up a few tips, though a quick glance showed theses were more hardcore than your average healing spell and those were only the ones I understood. There were a few I didn't recognize at all...though one near the back seemed vaguely familiar even though I had absolutely no idea of what it would do.

The medical file proved even less interesting. Most of it was boring details of a some sort of pregnancy. There was nothing to indicate it was special in anyway, save for the tiny death certificate at the back. A brown badge of failure.

It didn't explain why Yi had brought it home. I was pretty sure that was a crime.

We would have hit the homes of the other three women Savannah had seen but we had no idea who they were. So instead, we went shopping.

It might seem sort of irresponsible, but really, what else was there to do? The investigation was being handled, we were alive and I did need a dress for tomorrow. And anything that kept Savannah from charging into the unknown was fine by me. Though for the first time I got to have a sort-of explanation of what was going on.

Thomas Nast was turning eighty-five tomorrow. That was the reason Bryce was in Los Angeles in the first place. Thomas was having a major celebration—against his own wishes. The whole family was flying in, and almost every sorcerer of importance in North America was going to be sure to attend, even Paige and Mr Cortez. No one would dare miss it.

Why then was Bryce so eager to take a witch he didn't know? When I asked, Savannah replied with a glib, "You do have nice hair." But if Bryce bringing a witch would give Thomas Nast a heart attack and I was willing to give the crazy plan a try.

"To the mall, Paulie," Savannah announced, flinging herself in the backseat of the car.

Paulson started driving, but announced: "He gave you his credit card. You're not going to the mall. We're going to Rodeo Drive."

"Clearly someone's watched _Pretty Woman_ way too many times," I said.

"Wasn't _Pretty Woman_ the one with the prostitute?" Savannah asked. The glare I gave her told her the answer. "Stop being so sensitive. Besides, if Bryce didn't say anything about a price limit..."

"It's stealing. He offered to pay, he didn't offer a fortune."

Paulson interrupted: "It's not like he goes shopping. He would have said something if he wanted you to be stay under a limit. Come on. He's never going to take me and I want to go."

I rolled me eyes. "Fine. But if they kick us out I'm making your life miserable."

"You're walking in with your own bodyguard. They aren't going to say anything." Paulson grinned happily in the mirror. Savannah rolled her eyes and the two of us burst out laughing. Because the two of us did not go shopping together and this was just weird.

There was a doorman at the front of the boutique Paulson took us to. Savannah just grabbed my arm and pulled me along, like she saw things like that every day, like she didn't have to be as economical as I did when going shopping. Whatever made her happy.

I tugged at the end of my shirt and wanted to sink into the floor. I wasn't just undressed—I was so far beneath undressed that I desperately wished I was anywhere else. All three of us had just fought a demon; we were all rough around the edges. Yet, I kept on following Savannah. She could act like she owned anything.

A smiling woman with red hair that had been pulled back into a professional looking bun approached us in a sharp black suit. She was disproportionally pretty, considering she was in retail. A glance showed that all the employees had the same semi-sculpted good looks. It made them all look like robots. When she spoke, the clipped even tone did little to dispel me of the notion. It turns out Paulson was right. Show up at a store with a bodyguard and people automatically assumed you were important.

Savannah loved having her own minion and she ordered the woman around the store, picking out clothing for me. She was getting far more into this than I had ever seen her. I was the girly one. But I guess she was the Cabal princess. I just tried to ignore it. The ceaseless fawning was impressive, but also very annoying. My attention was also focused more on the store. It was absolutely enormous. And I think I almost bumped into George Clooney.

Eventually, after Savannah had pointed out every dress in the shop, the saleslady led us to a dressing room. It was very...nteresting. It was polygonal and made completely made of mirrors. There was an elevated platform in the middle of the room and a chair by the door we had entered from. Paulson waited outside. It was not going to be fun to see my flaws in high-definition.

The saleslady and Paulson helped hang the dresses on hooks I could barely make out. "I'll be right outside the door if you two need anything," she promised. "Anything at all."

Paulson followed her out and we were finally alone. "Since when are you coming to the party?" I asked Savannah.

She laughed. "I just want a dress."

"That's stealing," I pointed out. "It's not our money."

"Don't get all self-righteous. I'm sure you'll make it up to him somehow."

Though her tone had been casual, I asked: "Does it bother you that much? Because I can stop."

"Since when have you ever been able to stop anything?"

"Shut up."

Savannah smirked and then chuckled. "You really are freaking short. The two of you are going to look ridiculous."

"I'm sure they have shoes here. Probably have people sweating in the back making them." I glanced at the mirror, taking in Savannah's long limbs and comparing them to myself—I had the body of a twelve year old boy. A short twelve year-old boy. Or ten year old. Whatever. Shoes could only do so much. "Let's just get this over with."

The clothes Savannah had picked up held every single colour of the rainbow and then some. They were well made; silk and cashmere and a hundred other deliciously smooth fabrics that I couldn't name. They caressed my skin, hugged it, loved it. It almost made me think it wasn't so bad. But the styles. Sure they were more expensive than anything I could afford. And calling them ugly wasn't quite right. But though I hadn't known it was possible, you could look trashy in fifteen hundred dollar dress. I should have known better. Hadn't I ever watched the Oscars?

"It should be a little shorter," Savannah directed, as I stood in beside her in a deep green dress that was backless, practically frontless and already indecently short. It hadn't looked so bad outside—all dresses that fit me looked small—but on me it was ridiculous. I didn't have curves to speak of and this dress just made it more obvious.

Meanwhile Savannah was in a simple black dress that was making my rethink my heterosexuality. It just wasn't fair.

"I look like twenty bucks."

"Stop exaggerating. Try on something else."

"Is it really necessary for me to dress like this? Really?"

She reached over and helped undo the few hooks that were keeping the dress on me. "I guess you could be completely inappropriate while not looking like a slut."

"It's my skill," I informed her and she grinned. "Completely inappropriate is what I do."

"I'm such a bad friend," she said laughing. "I'm feeding you to the wolves on the outside chance that it'll help my brother. How fucking stupid am I? I know you hate Gramps and know you're touchy about taking things without paying and even touchier about paying and I keep asking you to do this."

"I'm the one that keeps agreeing."

"Yeah, but you're dumb."

"Thanks Savannah," I said as I tried on yet another dress. This one was red and not half bad, though it was perhaps a little too plain. I did have to make an impression, after all. As I studied myself in the mirror, Savannah asked, "_Are_ you going to sleep with Bryce again?"

"It's none of your business." Except maybe it was. I always told her that kind of stuff—why should now be any different? "Honestly, Savannah, I don't know. I won't if it bothers you."

"Just because the dresses were a little…" She sighed: "Maybe I was torturing you a little bit with the clothes."

"Maybe," I agreed.

Savannah burst into laughter. "I can't believe you actually tried on that yellow monstrosity. It made you look like Big Bird."

"Anything to make me look taller."

We grinned at one another and she finally stood up and began changing out of the dress. "Just...I barely know the guy. But he except for the fact he's started to give me things, I don't think I'm ever going to be very close to him. And it's just..."

"You're jealous," I realized.

"Incest is a crime in California, Gillian. Or it should be."

"Ha ha. That's so clearly not was I was talking about. I just meant...he's spending time with me, even if he doesn't like me that much. Which is more than he ever did for you. Which is stupid. I doubt he pursue a relationship with you, but I don't think he'd stop you from trying to make him have one."

Savannah pulled on her shirt. "Where have you been, Gillian? He clearly likes you."

"Likes screwing me is not the same thing as likes me as a person. FYI." She looked pointedly at me and I sighed. "He tolerates me, which is in itself a miracle, but that's just because he can sleep with me without being arrested."

"I think I would be okay if that's all it was," she said. "But it's not and I get that. I know I don't deserve for him to wanna be all BFFL but it just sort of sucks."

"Yeah it does. I'll stop. So what do you think of the pink dress?"

"Too Barbie. You don't want to."

"Be a Barbie?"

"Stop sleeping with my brother."

I tried to change the subject again, because I really didn't want to get into a discussion about what I wanted. Because then I might actually have to admit I felt a little bit disappointed. "What about the dark olive green one?"

"You looked liked Oscar the Grouch. Gillian, whatever the hell you're doing with Bryce, you don't have to stop because of me. Honestly, as long as you remember he's an evil manwhore, I'm okay with it."

"Nice," I laughed. But I stopped protesting.

"What about the baby blue one?"

"That could work."

* * *

Savannah spent the night at my place because driving back to Portland was out of the question, though I had her call Paige, so the older witch wouldn't worry. Before bed I alternatively read the girmoires and my school books—I was never going to graduate if I fell behind. Languages weren't courses that you could just pretend to do the readings. If you didn't take the time to learn the vocabulary, there was no way you could fake it.

We didn't make much headway though around ten we went out and broke into Yi's practice. There was nothing there that gave any hint that she was a supernatural. We did find an address book that might give up the names of her associates; Savannah would get Bryce to find pictures of the women, to see if she could recognize any of them. In the meantime she called Adam about the demon.

The change that came over her when she talked to Adam Vasic was astounding. She reverted right back to a preteen, alternatively insulting him or giggling manically. The pitch of her voice even rose a few octaves. It was embarrassing and yet sweet. And for the thousandth time I wished he would come out and say something—either tell her she had a chance or that she was delusional. It was the waiting around that was impossible.

Adam was supposed to help us find out what kind of demon Ken was. Tracking down demons wasn't as easy as you would think. Most people would just assume that it was as simple as following the trail of bodies. Actually, sometimes it could be. But most of the time, it was a little more complicated.

Demons were very big on the hierarchy and within their nether realms they had enough rules about who was above who to make a girl's head hurt. That's why Savannah had called Adam, or her official reason, anyway. You needed a lifetime to understand these rules. Adam's step-father—his actually father being a high ranking lieutenant to Satan—Robert Vasic knew more about demons than I knew about drugs. Unfortunately, there wasn't much help he could give us—there wasn't much for him to go on.

There were a few things it was easy to figure out. First off, demons were divided into two types, officially called eudemons and cacodemons. Eudemons were the ones that didn't actively try and screw up everything in the human world—in that way they were sort of likes sorcerers. It was beneath them. Cacodemons were more like their half-demon offspring (I assumed eudemons could have children, but I wasn't sure if there ever had been) in that they had awesome power and thought the best thing to do with it was to use it. And the thing about power was that it looked a lot prettier when things were going boom. Cacodemons were the types that supernaturals usually conjured, simply because it was a lot easier to give them what they wanted. Much easier to rape, torture and kill than it was to locate the Arc of the Covenant or whatever other obscure thing the eudemon felt like learning about that day.

It didn't feel like reaching to assume that the Ken was a cacodemon. Sure eudemons probably also had the strength to rip hearts out of bodies, but we were agreed that they wouldn't see the need for it. It would have been helpful if we could be sure of the distinctions between eudemons and cacodemons. Almost all demons claimed to be eudemons—I guess they thought it made them seem more trustworthy. Still it was a start.

But that tiny start was the only thing Adam could give us over the phone. He promised to do some more research and get back to us soon.

...


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

* * *

The party began at seven. Bryce seemed unnaturally concerned that we arrive perfectly on time, to better annoy everyone. Around two he began calling me non-stop, insisting that I should start getting ready. Savannah told him she had locked me in the washroom just to get him to stop.

I could hear them arguing as I got into the shower. Let the siblings hammer out whatever they wanted. They couldn't kill each other over the phone.

I didn't mind having five hours to get ready. I was a horrible girly-girl when it came to this sort of thing—I spent two days getting ready for Senior Prom. I liked smelling like some sort of flower. And I knew this was by far the most luxurious party I would ever get to attend. Might as well make the most of it.

I spent the rest of the day getting shepherded from place to place, from the nail salon to the hair salon and back again. Savannah rolled her eyes and I thought it was a little extreme, but Paulson insisted and Bryce was paying for it and it was sort of fun. I didn't even feel that bad about the disgustingly large amount of money we were spending. I had to face Thomas Nast. This was the least that they could do.

Putting on the dress without damaging my perfectly painted face was a challenge, but Savannah managed to help. The dress we had found was rather pretty, so light blue made me feel like I was just a weightless cloud in the sky when wearing. Not that I could escape; it was plastered so tightly to my body that there wasn't any risk of it falling down, even without having straps. Considering how short it was I probably shouldn't have let Savannah talk me into the slit at the side, but I figured I would only have one opportunity to try and kill the CEO of the Nast Cabal, so I might as well go all out. Not like they could blame me if he had a heart attack, right? I hoped not.

I focused on the dress, so I didn't think about what I was wearing underneath it. The thought of three hundred dollars worth of clothing that no one would ever get to see seemed sort of sad. Well, maybe I would show Bryce...if he didn't ask.

It was only when I slipped on the six inch heels that I had bought in a useless attempt to lessen the ridiculous difference in height between us that I realized, fully realized, I was excited. I sat down on my bed with an unladylike thump. I was so screwed. But who didn't like a party, really? Fancy dressed, fancy clothes...it was natural to get excited. It didn't mean anything.

I checked my make-up one last time and pulled my dress straight. I grabbed the clutch bag with my cell phone (turned to vibrate) tucked inside and was ready. I went to the living room where Savannah and Paulson were playing cards. I asked our friendly neighbourhood bodyguard: "I thought you had the night off?" He had been boasting about a date all day.

"I get off at six thirty. Or whenever the boss decides to show up." He slapped down a queen. "Take that."

Savannah sighed handed over the jack. She glanced up at me and gave me a rueful smile. "You look great."

"Sound any more disappointed, won't you?" I walked over to the grimoires to cram a few more spells in before I had to leave. The doorbell rang, saving me from getting even more nervous. I stood to answer it but Paulson grabbed my arm.

"The whole point of having me around is to let me watch out for you."

"Paulie, you don't need super-hearing to hear Bryce bellowing," Savannah said rolling her eyes. Sure enough, I could make out an angry voice. Joy.

Still, someone had to get the door.

Bryce could clean up well (of course he could—my life would be easier if he couldn't, so of course he could). His blonde hair was actually neat for once, without looking like he was wearing a wig, like men in suits sometimes did. His tie even matched my dress perfectly—I didn't want to know how he had managed that. With the blue around his neck it was impossible to miss just how intensely blue his eyes were. It made me feel like he could see through the thin dress and that thought wasn't as unpleasant as it should be considering his half-sister was three feet away. It was strange to see how natural he looked in the suit, despite the fact it was the first time I had seen him out of jeans. Still, he was leaning, this time against the house where it jutted out by the door. I resisted the urge to order him to stand up straight. He would never do it if he knew how much it bothered me.

There was a cell phone plastered to his ear as he gave me a critical once over. I worked hard not to fidget under his intense stare. Eyes lingered over my breasts; the miracle of Victoria Secret. As he walked inside—without returning my greeting—he muttered, "You're so fucking short. But you'll do."

"What is your issue?" I sighed as he went back to talking (shouting) on the phone. With him out of the way, I could make out Leech on the porch. He was going stay with Savannah while we were at the party. "Come on in."

"I feel like I should translate," Leach said with a smile as he followed me inside. "What Bryce meant was that you look really, really, really hot." He offered me his hand and I took it, letting him spin me around, staring at me the whole time. I could feel my cheeks heat up. It was nice to be appreciated every once and a while.

"Apparently too short, but what are you going to do?"

Bryce had walked into the kitchen and was arguing with someone about contracts. Business then, and I had to work hard not to understand. It didn't help I had been told since birth that the Cabal always came first. I really hated that.

Leech grinned. "Too short? The view's better from up here."

I swatted him playfully as Savannah called Leech over. It was strange seeing them together—Savannah had been invisible most of the time they had known each other. But he easily swung over the couch and landed beside her, taking the cards from Paulson, who managed to cover his dislike with a vague smile.

"Aww...War?"

"Buck up, big man, and get ready to get taken down."

Paulson chuckled at Savannah as he got up to leave. I made him promise to enjoy himself. Glancing quickly behind me—where Bryce was complaining about some overdue deadlines—he just gave me a brief, "Good luck, to you. Remember you look gorgeous and Grant will be there. If you feel uncomfortable, go up to him and he'll get you out."

"Thank you."

Paulson nodded and was gone. In the kitchen, Bryce finally hung up. Glaring at me like I had personally made whatever company miss whatever deadline, he asked: "You coming?"

Even dressed like a gentleman, he was still Bryce. He was going to talk to me like I was an idiot until the world ended. I headed to the door.

He reached out and grabbed my arm. If he bruised me before the dance, I was going to kill him. He pulled a box out of his pocket and handed it to me, even as his fingers moved over his Black Berry. "You need to put these on first. You won't look the part otherwise."

The velvet box contained jewellery. Lots of it. In gold. And diamonds.

When I didn't say anything for a long time, Bryce actually put the phone away and regarded me carefully: "You don't like it?"

"Like what?" Savannah demanded from behind me. I was having a hard time putting words together, stunned by the sheer volume of sparkle in front of me. I had seen jewellery like this before. I had just never been allowed to touch it.

"I know you think I'm an ungrateful bitch," I pushed out, "But nobody on the planet wouldn't like this."

"Like what?" Savannah demanded again.

I walked to the couch and showed her. My surprise was mirrored by hers for a second and then the Cabal princess reared her head. "Put it on then."

I handed her the box and she dutifully held it as I pulled out the earnings first. I wasn't sure my poor ears could hold up the large jewels, though I was sure as hell going to try. Bryce insisting I put my hair up suddenly made a little more sense. There was no point in wearing such enormous diamonds if no one could see them.

Next, a necklace came out of the box. There was a huge pear-shaped diamond that hung down, just barely brushing the tops of my breasts. As I felt the weight on my chest, I couldn't imagine the cost of a real diamond that big—on the other hand, would Bryce condescend to buy fake jewellery? That was even harder to imagine.

There was a ring in the box as well. It was two pieces of gold, interwoven, with two large, perfectly cut diamonds between the bands. I pulled it out, a little confused.

"I'm not pretending to be your fiancée. Am I?"

Bryce laughed. "You think that tiny thing is an engagement ring? Someone hands you a ring like that, you return it. He's supposed to go into debt buying the ring."

"What kind of ring would you have to buy to go into debt?" I asked, truly curious.

"You can't count that high. Hurry up and put it on."

I was going to ask where, but it fit so perfectly over my middle finger that I didn't need to bother. Bryce told me, "So when you flip me off, I have something nice to look at."

"How the hell does it fit?" Savannah demanded. It was a waste of breath. What other skills did he need to develop?

Now that I was over the sheer volume of the sparkle, I could handle him making me wear jewellery like this. It was all about making me his, declaring to the world that I was properly bought and paid for. It fit because that's what would look best; we had to stay in our roles, after all.

"I had it lying around," he shrugged. "Can we go know?"

"And it magically fits her?"

"Apparently." I was still fingering the necklace, the cool metal against my skin. The feeling of the jewels gave me shivers. Bryce ignored his sister. "Do you like it?"

I could only nod. No matter how demeaning it was supposed to make me feel, I simply couldn't get over how nice it all was. It shouldn't have made a difference—ten dollars, a hundred dollars or even ten thousand dollars, it just meant I was a doll on the shelf. I was used to that feeling. I wasn't used to being having everything feel so beautiful.

"Keep it then," he said dismissively.

"I couldn't—"

This could probably put me through college. For the next twenty years.

Now Leech and I joined Savannah in looking at Bryce like he was crazy. Bryce ignored us witches, and locked eyes with his friend, who backed down. A sigh of annoyance and then he headed towards the door. I had to half run to catch up with him.

"What the hell?" Savannah demanded as I wished her goodbye, shutting the door as she began to rant.

Bryce opened the door for me as we got to the car, seemingly unconsciously, and I stepped inside, brain still on autopilot. Grant was sitting in the front seat and I greeted him. He said nothing about the jewellery, just gave me a small smile.

"You couldn't have given him the night off?" I asked because I had to say something. Silence said too much, made me want to say thank you...and at least I still knew that was the dumbest thing for me to say.

Bryce tore his gaze away from the window, and then glanced at Grant, slowly figuring out what I meant. "They get paid overtime for nights like this. Would you rather not have a bodyguard?"

I would rather Grant was home with his family, but I couldn't say that. Instead I asked, "Am I going to need a bodyguard?"

"Not really. No one will hurt you on Nast property. You're not valuable enough."

"Thanks." I hated that tone. Half-bored, it said that I could offer everything I had and it still wouldn't be good enough. I was never enough. I knew that; Bryce didn't have to constantly remind me. "Did Grant at least find out what's wrong with your communications?"

Bryce sighed. "We've got so much security at the upper levels, it's taking him to forever to find out anything. But don't worry about it. He will."

"You going to tell me why I'm coming tonight?"

"No. But unless you're talking to my grandfather, try and be on your best behaviour. If you have any."

"Look who's talking."

He looked right down my dress. "I can be polite."

I made a noncommittal noise as Grant pulled the car out of the driveway. There looked to be a long night ahead of me and I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Except for the fact my sole purpose was to offend Thomas Nast. If that wasn't the dumbest thing I had ever done, I didn't know what was. Because of course the old man would be offended. I was a witch, after all.

* * *

Bryce had Grant turn the radio to the classical station and the rest of the ride was a series of etiquette rules to an instrumental soundtrack. It was as boring as it sounds.

But at the end of it all, there was the house.

Bryce was still talking but all I could do was stare. It was huge. The biggest house I had ever seen with property stretched out as far as the eye could. There were Chinese lanterns around the border and I could barely see the ones in the distance, faint twinkling stars in a black sky. The house was garishly designed, someone's idea of villa gone horrible wrong. Four enormous pillars stood between us and the door. I liked pillars, just not curving, twisting, slightly crooked ones. They didn't seem to serve a purpose. The whole building was a living, breathing stone monstrosity, which was a shame. Even natural disasters couldn't destroy it.

"What is your family compensating for?" I asked, eyes wide.

"You know we have nothing to compensate for," he snapped.

"And this is just one of your Grandfather's houses?"

He was helping me out of the car, as a valet came up to take the keys from Grant. The security at this party was going to be extreme—Thomas had even brought a company clairvoyant. Still, everyone around us seemed to have brought their own protection as well. What kind of world was it where you couldn't go to an octogenarians birthday party without armed guards?

I paused for a second, staring up at the building, trying to stifle the panic. Whatever else he was, Bryce was observant. He whispered in my ear, "Tonight, anytime you feel uncomfortable we can leave. The second it's too much, we're out of there. I hate being at these things anyway. All right?"

"I didn't know they made houses this big in real life," I choked out.

"I see. I'm sure it's amazing how attractive you find me at this moment."

I glanced over at him. Bryce was doing a good job of pouting while managing to look dignified. I did think he looked good, not because the house so obviously declared the Nast fortune but because it was so goddamn ugly he _had _to look good in comparison. I settled for a quiet:

"You're tie is crooked."

He fixed the tie just as the door opened for us. A white-gloved hand was gently offered to me. I took it, feeling almost like a fairy princess. I smiled at the doorman as he helped me across the threshold. There were lights everywhere and more of the gloved, perfectly dressed men appeared in front of me.

Bryce's presence beside me ruined the illusion. I couldn't be a fairy princess if reality was busy scowling next to me. With a tight smile, he offered me his arm. Reluctantly, I took it. He led me into the house without a word.

The hallway was terrifying. It was white and black and seemed to extend into infinity. The was a large staircase further in the room that looked like it was made of glass layered over onyx. No pictures adorned the walls, just strange silver sculptures. They twisted and turned and climbed upwards towards the stars.

"Bryce!"

Bryce turned to greet a man who I instantly recognized as Sean Nast. The nice brother. The one who had made sure I wasn't bothered by human inquiries into Tia's death. He was a little handsomer, his eyes a little bluer, his face a little broader. They had the same hair colour, but Sean's was longer, tied back at the nape of his neck. Bryce let go of me and returned his brother's hug easily. It didn't escape my notice that Sean seemed surprised at this.

"I wasn't sure you were coming," Sean continued, studying his brother, worry etched all over his face. It was hard to tell if it was just older brother concern or something more specific. Bryce didn't acknowledge it.

"When he says come, I come."

"Who's your—" Sean abruptly ended his sentence as he faced me, eyes locking. It was obvious he had just realized I was a witch. And he didn't seem to be taking it that well. But to give him credit, he covered so that it was clear it was his brother he was upset with, not me. His voice was pleasant as he asked, "Is this your date?"

Bryce stepped in. "Sean, this is Gillian MacArthur. Gillian, this is my brother, Sean Nast."

I didn't need the nudge he none to subtly gave me. I stuck out me hand and said sincerely, "Pleasure to meet you. Your siblings sing nothing but your praises."

"Siblings?" He quickly realized that wasn't a slip of the tongue. "You know Savannah?" he asked. I nodded. I don't know how he saw me, as his eyes were plastered on his brother. "Have you—"

"She introduced us, as a matter of fact," Bryce said smoothly. "Grandpa will be proud of my networking."

"Bryce..." Sean said, glancing around as if afraid Thomas would appear at any moment.

"You worry too much."

"What are you doing, Bryce?" Sean hissed. "What goes on your mind that you think Grandpa is not going to kill you for this?"

Bryce took my arm again, clutching it tighter than before. "We all have stupid taste in companions, Sean. I'm just reminding him of that."

"Don't. Don't do this. You're already—I don't need you to do this. You get that right? This isn't going to accomplish anything."

I knew I was missing something, but didn't have the slightest idea what. Neither brother seemed inclined to enlighten me. I kept busy avoiding the eye of everyone that was walking past us. I didn't want the rumours to start when Bryce wasn't paying attention.

"Maybe this isn't about you," Bryce said. "Maybe I really like her."

I almost snorted, but held it down. Yeah, this was clearly not about me.

The doors opened behind us and another, older, couple entered. Bryce's voice lowered. "I'm just going to scare him a little. Make him think it could be worse. Give him a little taste of the worst case scenario so he accepts reality. Remind him you're still better."

"Bryce...."

"You should love that," he snapped, getting angry. "Come on, Gillian. A night of infinite pleasure awaits us."

He yanked me through the black doors on his right. The heels were going to be a hindrance tonight if he was going to keep that up. I was liable to topple off balance at any moment. I could feel the tension radiating off of him, the encounter with his brother clearly upsetting him.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

Pain flickered in his eyes for the briefest of seconds and then the Cabal mask was on. "Some people have no sense of gratitude."

And with that we entered the hall.

It was just as grand as the entrance, though it actually had colour in it. If wood counted as a colour. Excepting the tables covered in white with silver candlesticks, the room was decorated completely in wood. Different colours and carvings and all sorts of interesting things, but all in different shades of brown.

There were people milling about everywhere and there were more sorcerers than I could count. I clung to Bryce instinctively, while cursing him for bringing me here in the first place. As more sorcerers caught my eye, more and more people turned to stare.

"Stop looking at people," he whispered as he lead me through the throng.

"You should have pretended I was blind."

"Hey. The Cabals don't discriminate against the disabled."

"Just the witches."

"Only when they're ugly," he reassured me.

Bryce greeted a few of the couples we met. The sorcerers were either blatantly rude or ignored me completely. Their wives just looked at me with a hint of disgust. It was going to be a long night.

Unfortunately, we couldn't just leave. This was the whole point, after all, at least, I thought it was. Piss everyone off by bringing a witch. I didn't understand what that could possibly accomplish, but I had promised Bryce. Plus, I liked the house. But annoying everyone was slow going work. It was a big crowd. Bryce didn't torture me the whole time; whenever we found someone who could tolerate my presence he lingered a little bit longer, keeping up the small talk. My job was merely not to say anything stupid. It was easily enough to judge whether our audience would tolerate a comment.

After the sorcerers, the necromancers were the most hostile. They were more likely to be high ranking employees of some sort and couldn't bear to see one of their bosses—because despite the fact that he was younger than most of the people we met, he was a Nast, and thus, in change—degrading himself so. The half-demons and shamans were fairly neutral, sometimes talking directly to me. They couldn't afford to piss off my date.

We were circling yet again, when I spotted them walking through the doorway. I barely managed to come up with an answer that the half-demon Financial Controller had asked. The next few moments of conversation were pure agony. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, desperately hoping they couldn't see me around Bryce.

When we finally got away I warned him: "Mr Cortez and Paige just came."

"They're here?" he asked, bored. "Fuck. I definitely have to talk to Lucas. Tonight is never going to end."

"My life," I explained, clearly, "is going to end, when they find out I'm here with you. They're going to suspect something and then they're going to investigate and then they'll find out..."

"Find out what? You're an adult; it is feasible that you're just here to have a good time."

I wasn't getting through to him. "They're going to wonder how I know you."

"So tell them," he said slowly. "I'm sure you could figure something out. Maybe I delivered the antibiotics that saved Savannah's life just in time and for that heroic act you decided to give good old misunderstood Bryce Nast a chance."

"You're not misunderstood if you act like an ass and people assume you're an ass. And that's too unrealistic. I can't believe Savannah didn't let me tell them. They're going to freak when they find out."

He shrugged. "Then tell them Savannah set us up. It's a blind date."

"I don't want them to think Savannah hates me."

"Hey." Bryce glared down at me. But he was also a lot closer than he should have been, considering we were in a room full of people. His hand was on my shoulder, thumb gently tracing my collar. "I happen to think I'm doing a good job of winning Savannah over. But we can avoid them, if you really want. It's about the only thing I can do well."

His breath tickled against my neck. I could feel a hundred different disapproving sorcerer eyes on us. I stayed right where I was. "Thanks."

We kept mingling with a never-ending crowd of people. It would have been even worse if I hadn't known Bryce hated it twice as much as I did. That wasn't to say he was bad at it—no, he was actually surprisingly great at faking interest, laughter and polite conversation. I guess being bred for this sort of thing hadn't hurt. I assumed he was cursing underneath, desperate to escape or to let something slip out of his mouth that he couldn't, but his countenance gave nothing away.

Except that every time we turned away he whispered some horrible thing about someone in my ear. I think he liked having someone to complain too. And since most of the people in the room were staring down their noses, I found it funny.

"Bryce, honey, are you really walking away from me?"

Bryce turned around and was attacked, swallowed in an enormous hug by a women in a bright pink dress. She was older, with short dyed hair and a pleasantly lined face. She was a hefty woman, with an enormous smile and in her dress, she reminded me of cotton candy. Her head was topped off with an elaborate hat of feathers, a sprinkling of sugar on top of maple syrup.

But Bryce didn't seem displeased to see her. In fact, he returned the hug eagerly, holding it a little longer than I thought appropriate.

"Alba, my love, how are you?" he grinned, stepping back to my side.

She sighed. "All work and no play, my boy. So I'm heading to my villa next month even if I have to convince your grandfather to come with me. We might be a little busy, but if you wanted to come, I wouldn't say no..."

The look she gave him almost made me blush, but he seemed to enjoy it. Of course he did.

"What time should I be there?" he asked.

She laughed loudly, body rippling up and down like a tidal wave. The feathers shook with her and I felt myself grinning in spite of myself. She was like a laughing pink Furbie—it was ridiculous.

"Bryce, stop flirting with me. You're going to make your poor girl hopelessly jealous."

"Would you like to be introduced, Alba?" He turned to me, trying to cover his laughter. "If you're scared, we can leave now."

Despite her pleasant smile, I noticed the pink-puffball was sizing me up. But she was the first person who seemed actually pleased to meet me.

"You can introduce us if you promise not to run away with her. Don't give me that look, Bryce, I can tell you're thinking it," I said finally.

Bryce smiled and addressed the woman. "Alba, this is Gillian MacArthur. Gillian, this Albarita Fermi, the love of my life. She works for my grandfather, on his board of directors. She's the most powerful shaman on the planet," he finished proudly.

She giggled, hands clapping. "I loved it when you lie about me like that."

"We both know you have the rest of the board in that magnificent hand of yours."

"I told you to stop." She addressed me. "You must think I'm horrible. It's all his fault. That boy makes me crazy. But here, let me welcome you properly."

The hug came out of nowhere, but I shouldn't have been surprised. It was rather like hugging a bean bag. It just kept shifting underneath you. She gave me two large smacks—one on each cheek—and then pulled away.

However pink and puffy Alba acted, there was a powerful woman lurking just under the surface. Her eyes were hard as they studied me for a moment and it scared me, despite the smile that had been on my face a second before. You don't get on the board of directors by smiling at people. And then, just as quickly, she went fluffy again.

"You must bring her over, boy. The poor girl needs a good home cooked meal and quickly. I make the best lasagna you have ever tried."

"It's true," Bryce admitted. "There was potential competition once, but Alba had her killed."

"The nice coroner said it was an accident," Alba shot back.

Bryce laughed but paused, glancing behind him. Then he swore, his attention no longer focused on either of us. "Hollis is coming."

Alba heaved a great big sigh but promised, "I'll keep him busy for you. Honestly, the things I do for you boy. Go! Though I expect to be thanked properly for this, sweetheart."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?" he asked.

"Trust me..." she trailed off mischievously, winking. From the left a tall, slender man dressed all in black was steadily approaching. Alba hefted her enormous frame in front of him and effectively cut off all paths of pursuit as Bryce and I melted into the crowd.

I started giggling then, right in the middle of the floor. She had terrified me more than I thought. "She's terrible! That cougar." He turned redder, if that was possible, and I had to ask, "Bryce? You didn't?"

He grabbed glass of champagne from the circling waiters. He took a sip and avoided the question.

"She's old enough to be your mother!" I said, still giggling. He so had. I could see it perfectly, her fawning over him, his young desperate body eager to please. Probably in the board room.

"I used to wish she was. Kept all my secrets when I was a kid."

He tried to play it off as a joke, but there was no doubt he was serious. I leaned into him, lowering my voice.

"I'm sorry I annoyed her then."

"Actually, I think she liked you. Usually she refuses to even speak to the women she sees me with."

"Because they're whores," I pointed out.

"They aren't—" Bryce stopped himself. "Not in the technical, technical sense of the word."

"She seems a little old to be an over-protective big sister."

"She's like my adoring aunt, if adoring aunts seduced their nephews. As long as I'm happy...she still loves me. She wouldn't have talked to Hollis for all the world if she didn't. He's on the board of directors too. Fucking power mad. The second I can I'm going to fire Hollis so fast—" He took a deep breath and remembered where he was. "Fucking Hollis."

"So you don't like Hollis?"

I grinned, but Bryce just shook his head. "He's been trying to get the necromancer under him, Mariah Eisenberg, fired since she had her kid. It was sick, or something, and she was always off taking care of it. We might have actually fired her too, except her husband's on the board of directors."

"That's terrible." And the way Cabals worked. Total dedication or go home.

"Hollis disagreed, but he was voted down. But when the kid died a few a months ago he started lecturing Mariah on how that was a good thing, how she should be grateful, because now she wouldn't be distracted from her duties. She tried to push him out a window. And when she told her husband, he didn't bother with the window, just tried to kill Hollis with his own two hands."

"And that's why you don't like him?"

"Who's fucking stupid enough to say that?"

I snorted. "It's not about what he said, but the fact he said it out loud?"

"Of course." Because he had to know I was going to start arguing, he said, "Let's not talk about Hollis. Let's dance."

And with that he pulled me onto the dance floor. This wasn't my kind of dancing at all. I could dance in clubs—if it looked like upright sex, I could pull it off—but this sort of elegant waltzing stuff was completely beyond me. Luckily this type of dancing only required I followed Bryce's lead and this was one time where I was happy to let him have his way.

One hand in mine, the other high on my back, he lead us slowly around the room. It wasn't too complicated and my father had taught me something similar once upon a time. He was nodding at various people around us as I tried to keep up.

"Does Alba feel up all your dates?"

"Yup." Bryce grinned at a fond memory. "I was dating this one tramp and she taking some sort of fertility hormone. Alba popped her right in the eye. She's got a mean left hook."

I suddenly felt lucky to have escaped with only a few scattered disapproving looks. "You're kind of paranoid about knocking someone up, aren't you?"

"Well, my father wasn't and now we have to deal with the she-devil." I 'accidently' stepped on his toe. He cringed but took the blow as it was intended. Neither of us apologized. "There are other stories in our family too."

"About the gold-digging whores?"

"You mock, but there are a lot more out there than the feminists would have you think." Bryce tried to twirl me and, to my surprise, he somehow succeeded, before continuing: "Grandpa's older brother, Misha, had an accident when he was five. He lived, but it left him a little...well, retarded, but we're not allowed to say that. But of course, this being a Cabal, he had to be on the board of directors, even if everyone made sure he never actually did anything. Anyway, he had this cleaning woman—some sort of immigrant and don't give me that look, MacArthur—anyway, she wasn't an idiot. She gets knocked up, he marries her, two months later he's dead. She takes the company for over a hundred million and then takes the kid and disappears. Smart woman."

"I've suddenly been seized by the urge to bear your offspring."

"Can you imagine? Our children would be monsters."

I had to smile because...they would be. "Maybe I should start a cleaning business instead."

"That might actually work. You wouldn't believe the number of men in my family that like a women in costume."

I pressed closer to him and whispered in his ear, "And what sorts of costumes do you like?" I was getting so desperately tired and there was no sign that dinner was going to happen any time soon. We might as well have a little fun. My hand slipped out of his, running down his tie, further...

The hand on my back a tad lower for a second. Then he groaned and grabbed my wayward hand. "Hold that thought. But if I disappear now, they're just going to think we're backing down. Let's just get some food. We won't have to talk to anyone then."

Thomas Nast lay out a splendid buffet. There was every sort of food you could imagine and some I couldn't. Fruit cut and diced and sliced every which way and pates and caviars and other exotic spreads. And cheeses from around the world. There was even a chocolate fountain in the corner. I didn't want to go over there, though. Corners weren't the safest places to be tonight.

Bryce filled a plate and I picked off it. When I asked for more fruit he told me to get it myself, since I had eaten all of his. With a forced sigh, I headed off towards the pineapple.

I reached for the knife as the same time as another woman. Glancing up I froze. Crap.

Paige Cortez couldn't believe her eyes. At least she wasn't the only witch.

"Paige," I said, trying to grin. "You look lovely."

She did look lovely. As the CEO's wife, she was wearing a respectable black, but it hugged her curves and showed enough skin to keep those older women gossiping and her husband quite happy. Her hair had been professionally done up, the only reason it wasn't a curly mess. I had wanted curly hair when I was younger—all girls with straight hair do, at some point—but hearing Paige bitch about hers had snapped me out of it. Tonight—the night of the six inch heels—I was a little taller than her, but I could feel her eyes burning into me, even from below.

"Gillian. I heard there was another witch here, but I didn't think—what are you doing here?"

"It's a long story. Where's Mr Cortez?"

"By the fountain. What are you doing here?"

"Enjoying the party."

I was saved from Paige's next question by the arrival of her husband.

Lucas Cortez had been born with a serious expression on his face and it never left, unless he was looking at his wife. Tall and thin, I couldn't remember him looking less than respectable even though he was in the business of rushing out at all hours of the night to save lives. He was one of the most powerful men in a room of incredibly powerful people—being heir to the most powerful Cabal—and he was probably the first people would forget. He was just that non-descript.

"Gillian. It's pleasure to see you," he said politely. "What pleasing revelation."

I knew I was in trouble when Lucas got the multi-syllable words out. Honestly, I needed a dictionary when I was around him. Usually because there was a strong urge to throw it at him and demand he speak English like the rest of us.

"Good to see you to. Listen, I have to—"

"I don't understand," Paige said. "You hate Thomas Nast."

"I'm not here with him," I said. The instant the words left my mouth I wanted to take them back. There was nowhere the conversation could go except...

"So who are you here with?"

I turned and there he was. With a tilt of my head, I beckoned him and he came. As he came to stand behind me, hand possessively on my back, I managed to squeak out: "Paige, you know Bryce Nast, right?"

Paige's eyes flashed, no doubt recalling how Bryce did not talk to his sister, her darling ward. Lucas and Bryce, on the other hand, had both done that stupid Cabal thing. Their faces were completely blank. I wanted to laugh.

Paige said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know you two knew each other at all."

"We don't." I should have let him do the talking. My brain had completely ceased proper functioning. Because I really hated when she was disappointed in me, because I was passive-aggressively angry about it, and because I sort of suspected something was about to blow up in my face.

"Gillian means to say we don't know each other in the Biblical sense. We're really quite close on a spiritual level."

So much for letting him talk. He was loving this, the bastard. Paige and Lucas were just looking at me like I had lost my mind, which wasn't actually that unusual. Bastards.

"What Bryce means is...he saved my life. Twice."

The words just came tumbling out—I barely realized they were true. I didn't even know what I was saying anymore, but I wanted to shock them, just a little bit.

"And got shot. Once," he added.

"You said you'd stop bringing that up," I hissed. When I saw Paige's started look I may have smiled, just a little, as I promised, "I didn't shoot him."

Evidently, the Cortezes didn't want to hear that there was something else wrong with me. Lucas turned to Bryce: "You're Grandfather reaches quite a milestone tonight."

They babbled inanely about the celebration as I tried to keep from looking too amused. And then Paige caught my eye and asked, "How have you been, Gillian?"

Thank goodness I could feel Bryce's hand on the small of my back, reminding me how I never could resist people who pretended to care. That wasn't fair. In a way, Paige did care. I was a witch, and therefore her responsibility. That simple. I suddenly felt horrible—as I always did in her presence. I just couldn't help letting her down. Opening my mouth, I went to apologize—

"I'm sorry," Bryce said, before I could say anything, "I think I just saw my grandfather. I haven't wished him happy birthday, yet. Please excuse us."

Without another word, he pulled us through the crowd, putting as much distance between the Cortezes as we could. I hastily brought a finger up under each eye, trying to mop the tears without ruining the makeup that had cost him a small fortune.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I really should figure out if I love them or hate them."

"Tell them to screw off. It's easiest," he said, like he really didn't understand why I might not act exactly the way I wanted to every single second of every single day.

"Not all of us can afford to alienate everybody we meet."

"I only wish I could," he grumbled, glaring around at the crowd that we still had to talk to. We lucked out. The servers began beckoning people to their seats. This was it. Time to face Thomas Nast.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

* * *

Rubbing me in everyone else's face gave Bryce a perverse sort of pleasure. Rubbing me in his Grandfather's face was the whole point of the night. I had to say, I was eager to help him. Anything that made the old man's life a little less pleasant was fine by me. If he hadn't thought he was the king of the world, then maybe my sister would still be alive. That did not mean, however, that I wasn't just a little scared that he would have me killed in the middle of the ballroom.

People like him expected to get their own way. And whatever patience he had with Bryce was sure to snap tonight. But I was okay, as long as I survived it.

Bryce led me to one of the tables in the center of the room, the one filled with blonde men and their well-dressed partners. Sean stared as his brother in horror as we approached. Most of the table followed suit. This was a bad idea. But there was no going back now. I couldn't exactly leave now that they had seen me. Paige would never forgive me if I made witches look pathetic. I was not trying to think of Paige, or the rest of the room, for matter, staring at me at that moment.

To my relief, Sean quickly indicated the seat beside him. Bryce did the gentlemanly thing with the chair. And there I sat, flanked by the sons of Kristof Nast, at a table full of sorcerers. Dana was turning in her grave.

No insults followed. I guess the rest of the family hadn't thought he'd dare to it. I think I was going a little bit hysterical. I kept having to fight down the urge to burst into laughter—though in my defence, their looks of horror were priceless.

Bryce leaned over and quickly named off his family. It was easy to see who he was talking about, as their faces turned stony whenever my attention turned towards them. A few of them had brought dates—wives, with one fiancée—but for the most part they had come alone, like Sean. It was easier to mingle, I suppose. Sorcerers tended to be the ultimate cigar club. They didn't feel witches to be their equals, and humans really weren't, so no woman was as good as the boys. At the opposite end of the table, there was an empty space. I almost wondered if Sean had purposely arranged it so that I was across from his grandfather. I doubted it. He didn't seem that inherently evil.

The table was quiet as we waited for Thomas to show up. Bryce quietly pointed Grant out along the wall and when that didn't stop the shaking asked me if I wanted to leave. I shook my head and he gave me a grateful smile. He kissed the back of my hand, and then we were silent.

Finally, the old man came into view. He was dressed in a black suit and a crisp white shirt, with an old fashioned bowtie and a black band around his arm. He was losing his snow white hair but no one had yet to see him stoop. Though he was frailer than was desirable for a Cabal CEO, Thomas Nast was still going strong.

I didn't understand why he hadn't stepped down yet. Most CEOs—if they lasted that long—retired around sixty and had heart attacks two years later, due to the stress of their jobs. Thomas was eighty-five and everyone in the supernatural world knew he had no plans to retire. If the Nasts knew why no one thought to inform me. But I was beginning to suspect as Sean's eyes stayed firmly on my face.

The old sorcerer took one look around the table and locked eyes with me. And then the almighty Thomas Nast was struck dumb.

He just sort of stood there, gaping, as we waited for him to sit. I didn't dare look at Bryce, but I just knew he was smirking.

"Grandpa," Bryce said, more cheerfully than I had ever heard him. "How are you?"

"What is that?"

Bryce turned and looked at me, expression puzzled. "A necklace? A dress? You don't know what a woman looks like anymore, Grandpa? I thought they put you on Viagra to avoid forgetting about that."

Nobody else spoke. Cabal CEOs had killed their relatives before. Not that I cared. Thomas Nast deserved a whole lot worse than having a witch breathe the same air as him.

"You insult me on my birthday?"

"It's a birthday surprise. You're always telling me to start settling down, so I wanted to show you that I am trying."

It was such bullshit I was sort of impressed. All he had to do was compose a sonnet to our love and it would be perfect. But in the meantime, I was trying not to stare at the pulsating vein in Thomas's neck.

"Not with that!" It wasn't possible to be anymore condescending. "Pray, boy, you're father is not watching this."

I didn't know much about Bryce Nast. I didn't know his favourite colour, his birthday...I wasn't even too clear on what he did for a living, besides destroy people's lives. However, I did know that his father was a very, very, very sore subject. I knew a little bit about father's you continually disappointed. I grabbed his hand—hitting his grandfather wouldn't solve anything—and prayed he would just let it go.

I could be really naïve sometimes.

"He's probably too busy wondering why Sean hasn't taken over yet."

That was the wrong thing to say. Thomas's red face turned purple. I thought he was going to have a stroke. The others seemed to realize it too.

"Father," one of the men—Uncle Josef, I think—"sit down. People are beginning to stare. It's just a phase. He'll grow out of it."

The older man seemed disinclined to agree, but people _were_ staring and causing a scene (when he did not want to) was not something that he did easily. He sat and waiters immediately filled the hall. Dinner was served.

"Grow out of it?" I whispered to Bryce while everyone else pretended I didn't exist. "Aren't you almost thirty? Isn't it a little late to grow out of it?"

"I'm twenty-six." Oops. That was a relief to know and he didn't have to glare at me quite so hard. It was an honest mistake. "And they used that excuse about Great-Uncle Friedrich until he keeled over at a hundred and two. He had a thing for drag queens."

"I don't even beat a drag queen?" Weren't the Cabals progressive?

"He was already married. Unfortunately, I think you might beat something. Oh well, it was worth a shot."

I spent most of the dinner trying to keep the smirk off my face—I had ruined Thomas's birthday, completely. The old man couldn't have a conversation without it ending in nonsensical muttering as he shot death glares at me like a prepubescent girl. He tried to recapture some control by continuously insulting my race, but I had been Gillian before I had been a witch, and I really could have cared less. When he started to get really ugly, Bryce managed to shut him up, usually by saying something so outrageously insulting that everyone held their breath and wondered if Thomas would just kill his grandson and be done with it.

I loved it.

Maybe I was a little too mean. Sometime just before desert, Bryce turned to me and asked, "You doing all right?"

Thomas was scowling at me again, but I couldn't help notice that his expression deepened when Bryce brushed my hand. Thomas had killed my sister and I couldn't touch him. Squirming looked good on him.

I brought my lips to Bryce's ear and kept my voice low. "It's not your grandfather I'm thinking about."

"Really now?"

"Nope. I was just wondering what we could do with this marvellous table."

Bryce chuckled and I felt fingertips brush against the inside of me knee. I didn't bother hiding my shiver. I really did forget Thomas as I began to whisper all the interesting ideas that had come into my mind.

By the time I hand finished his fingers were tracing the edge of my panties and his eyes were dark as I pulled back and gave him the sweetest smile I could. He swallowed and then said thickly, "Where did you learn to talk like that?"

"All witches can."

Thomas knew exactly what we were up to if his immediate demand that Bryce pass him the bread was any indication. When Bryce managed that one handed, Thomas insisted he pass the salt. Considering there was a shaker right in front of Thomas, I don't think it was a sodium fetish. Locking eyes with him, I deftly passed the salt to Sean and then arched a little in my seat while biting my lip, just for show.

Thomas stood up slamming down on the table. I tried to look innocent as Bryce brought up both hands to calm his grandfather down. "You're making a scene, Grandpa," he stated.

The whole table looked between Bryce and his grandfather. With the eyes of every sorcerer in the room on him, Thomas had no choice to sit back down. But he wasn't going to sit down quietly.

"Why should I spend my birthday with your whore?"

It was one thing for Bryce to call me that, since he was paying for everything and let me get away with acting like a complete bitch all the time. It was quite another...when Thomas said it, it brought me back, back to Georgia where it was flung around so much I could have been forgiven for thinking it was an endearment.

"I don't pay for sex, Grandpa. You're getting your descendents confused in your old age."

The table went quiet and I could see one of the uncle's had turned a pasty white colour. I guess it was only to be expected that someone would have that particular dirty little secret. But that Uncle—not Josef, but Theo-something? I couldn't remember—wasn't going to stay silent.

"Do you know her name this time, Bryce? No wonder you expect congratulations."

Bryce ignored his uncle and spoke while holding his grandfather's eye. "You said I had to stop screwing around. So I did. You should be _thanking_ Gillian."

I thought Thomas had looked angry before—I was wrong. Now he was angry, so angry I started mentally preparing to be executed as the Cabal CEO started muttering under his breath. It was German and so I sort of understood—but translating swearing is pretty difficult. And disgusting.

"What's he saying?" Bryce asked. I didn't see how he wouldn't know. If you grew up with that type of language, you picked up on the meaning over time. But I got to work translating, because I liked doing it.

"Standard insults about your mother. Bitch, whore, pig. There's a lot more...bathroom type terms than I would expect. And I think he's told you to kiss his ass a few different ways. There was also something about a tail, but I think that was a reference to..." My eyes dropped to his lap and I gave him a weak smile. "So yeah. He called you small. And a male prostitute. I think."

"And he's supposed to be mature," Bryce said, shaking his head sadly. Thomas glanced at us and Bryce smiled. "She can speak it too. You want to converse with her? Show him, Gillian."

I rolled my eyes, but Thomas was watching me. He had called me a whore. There was something I could do—I had looked it up the day after Bryce told me and I remembered it fairly well. It was actually a surprising bit of writing. "Wir können durch Liebe und Wohlwollen leicht bestochen warden...aber durch Drohungen ganz gewiß nicht. Wir Deutsche fürchten Gott, aber sonst nichts in der Welt und die Gottesfurcht ist es schon, die uns den Frieden lieben und pflegen läßt."

We are easily influenced...by love and kindness, but quite surely never by threats. We Germans fear God, and naught else in the world. It is this fear of God which makes us love and cherish peace.

I wouldn't have thought a Cabal CEO would be all that interested in that sort of statement, one that was long before his time, but it was the only reference to 'wir fürchten Gott' that I had been able to find.

"No," Thomas announced when I stopped. Like it made some sort of sense. He wasn't angry anymore. In fact, he seemed almost sad. We had obviously gone too far. "No. Bryce. Stop."

"I—" Bryce swallowed. I think he understood what his grandfather meant even if I didn't. Even if everyone else didn't. Because I don't think the uncles and the cousins understood why Thomas was directing the command at Bryce, especially since I was silent now, any more than I did. Bryce looked almost sincerely apologetic. "I'm sorry."

Thomas dropped his head to his hand, massaging his forehead. "Austin, go visit your children."

Austin Nast—cousin, I was pretty sure—stood up. Beckoning to his wife (daughter of a half-demon, so she was powerless, not that I needed her genealogy to know that) he announced they were going to check on their newborn son. "The boys have been asking about you, Bryce. I'm sure they would like a visit."

With more tact than I thought he possessed, Bryce bemoaned not seeing the kids enough and then the two of us were being excused and following Mr. and Mrs. Austin Nast from the crowded ballroom.

"What was that about?" I demanded.

His arm around my waist tightened. "Forget it."

"Bryce...did I say something taboo? Because I think I did more than piss him off."

"It wasn't you. Don't worry about it. Just be glad you got to leave."

"You're not going to get in trouble for it?"

"The whole point of bringing you was to get in trouble. Don't worry about it, Gillian. I can handle my grandfather. Hopefully." Calling out to his cousin, he said: "I do want to see the guys."

The look Austin shot us said very clearly he didn't mind if _Bryce_ went to see the younger generation of Nasts. I rolled my eyes. "I can wait at the door."

"That's no way to treat your potential future cousin-in-law." Bryce thought it over. "Or whatever she would be."

Austin dismissed his wife with a glance. The woman walked ahead as if obeying her husband's every whim was the great purpose of her life. Then again, who was I to judge? At least she had a wedding ring. I was listening to Bryce because...I had promised? I was an idiot.

"You can stop the charade. We've all figured out the stunt you're pulling. Grandpa will figure it out when he stops being so angry."

Bryce stiffened, but I could tell only because I was pressed right against him. His demeanour showed no visual change. He turned to me. "I think my family is doubting our great love."

"We're not giving them a demonstration of any sort of love," I informed him and he laughed, before turning back to Austin.

"I don't care what you think you know. I'm not leaving her alone in this crowd. No one else seems to share my forward thinking views on witches."

"Not only can you ignore, insult and look down on them, but now you can screw them too?" I whispered in his ear.

"Now, Gillian, I never ignore you."

That was the truth, I realized. It may even have been the reason I was there.

Austin looked between us suspiciously but realized that whatever bullshit Bryce had said, he wasn't leaving me. I was kindly allowed to accompany them to the billiard room—were we in the eighteenth century or what?—where the Nast children had been deposited in a sort of chaotic get together.

The adults had clearly locked them away, and on such an important occasion, it was easy to see why. There were about ten of them—they kept moving so I couldn't really count properly—of various ages, belonging to various parents, and the destruction they had created was terrifying. They were all seated around a makeshift round table in a nicely furnished room with three pool tables and a cupboard full of wine. Almost all of the children were some variations of blonde. And the eldest, a snarling fourteen-ish year old who wanted to be out on a Friday night, was taller than me. It made it easier to look down his nose.

Two of the littlest ones screamed in delight at seeing Bryce and rushed to greet him. He let go of me and scooped them both up, walking over to the table that had been converted into some kind of fort. They were telling him about the terribly exciting monster truck rally Daddy had promised to take them too, if they were very good.

I stayed by the door, because I clearly didn't belong. Austin's wife disappeared into another room, where her young son was probably sleeping. The boys in this room were listening in rapt attention to Bryce's retelling of a rather dangerous trip. He was clearly the fun uncle who spoiled everyone's children rotten while mom and dad looked on helplessly and tried to clean up afterwards.

One of the younger boys grew distracted, looking around the room for something of interest. That's when he locked eyes with me. He threw up his tiny little hands and dove under the table, screaming: "Witch!"

The ones in Bryce's lap also disappeared, while another boy, about eight, pulled out a water gun. I quickly put my hands in the air. The older boys just looked at me in disgust. Bryce burst out laughing, because he would find this funny.

"Guys it's safe to come up," he called under the table. "She won't hurt you, I promise." He glanced at me and smirked, "Bet that's the first time in your life you've been considered scary."

"I could have done without the experience."

Bryce scowled at the older nephews, who looked embarrassed. "Be nice," he told them. "Guys, this is Gillian, and yes, she is a witch. But she's a good friend of mine so we're going to show her those manners I know your dads have taught you."

"Why is the witch here, Uncle Bryce? They're good for nothing." The young boy seemed so proud of himself for reciting that crap I wanted to cry. It was the matter-of-fact tone that broke my heart a little. Because these chubby little blonde boys were going to grow up and become just like all the grown-ups in the other room who couldn't bear to look at me. Austin, who hadn't bothered to follow his wife, just watched with a remote curiosity.

"Dallas," Bryce admonished gently, "Your father would never say such a thing. Everyone knows witches are good for two things."

I raised my eyebrow. Two things? That was more credit than we usually got but I wasn't about to hand Bryce a medal anytime soon. He gestured for me to come over. I shook my head. He gestured again, with less patience. Again, I refused. With a sigh, he commanded: "Guys."

And with that one word a horde of Nasts descended on me, pulling and pushing me along. I had one on each leg and for such tiny people, they were strong. You can't fight children, so I eventually found myself on Bryce's lap, just like his nephews had been. His hand snaked higher up my leg but I kept his gaze. I didn't have the luxury of backing down.

"Let's hear what witches are good for," I said with a sigh.

Attacking someone had put the boys in a much better humour and they gazed at me curiously as Bryce began to lecture his rapt audience.

"First of all, well, I hope one you can tell me this. You're smart boys. What are witches good for?"

"Witch spells!" cried the one with the plastic gun.

"Very good, 'Lex. Very good. Maybe Gillian could give us a demonstration?"

He gazed up at me and gave me a wink. I sighed, not eager to be a performing monkey but sensing the room would turn ugly if I failed to do as the beloved Uncle Bryce decreed.

I caught Austin's eye. "I supposed I can't use the spell where I incinerate someone from the inside out?"

Bryce's hand went even further up. I always suspected violence got him hot. His body shook under me as he chuckled. "How about something less angry?"

"Fine." I quickly cast the spell on Austin. It was a simple level two spell, one that Paige only made me learn so I could use the more deadly tertiary spell. But personally, I preferred this one.

Austin hiccupped. And then hiccupped. He blushed, hiccupping all the while. The boys stared in silence and then one by one they began to giggle. Bryce laughed the loudest of all as his cousin glared. When the joke began to get old, I cured Austin's raging case of the hiccups.

"See guys, witches know interesting witch magic."

"But what else are they possibly good for?" the eldest one snarled. He hadn't appreciated Austin being shown-up by a witch. Not at all.

Bryce's eyes narrowed. "I'll tell you when you become a man, George. Right now, I'm afraid it's a little much for your virgin ears."

The eyes of the older boys—the ones who weren't the blushing George—suddenly looked at me with new interest while the younger ones tried to puzzle out Bryce's meaning. I rather hoped they never did.

"You can't tell us, Uncle Bryce?" Dallas looked so sad that I had to smile.

Bryce's face was dead serious as he bent forward to look the little guy in the eye. I put an arm around his neck to steady myself. "Are you sure you're old enough to know?"

The room clambered with cries of yes. I was a little afraid he would tell them exactly what kind of use he had found for me, though clearly the older ones were excited for that very reason. When the shouting had gone on long enough to satisfy him Bryce hushed them.

He leaned forward and they all came closer, eager to hear the secret. Even George came, his eyes now fastened on the top of my dress. I winked at him, starting him blushing all over again. Served the boy right. He wasn't allowed to forget I was human and then jack off thinking about me, anyway.

Bryce smiled: "They're also easy to beat at video games."

"Hey!" I protested. "That was the first time, and if I remember correctly, you elbowed me in the stomach to win."

"I would never do such a thing. Guys," he asked, "Do I need to cheat to beat you all at racing?"

They laughed and Lex informed me: "Uncle Bryce is a big cheat."

"Why do I find that so easy to believe?"

"Hey!" Bryce said mock indignantly. "Hey, you guys want to do something fun?"

I think they might have destroyed the billiard room by the time they were done. They built stools out of the other furniture and the magazines lying around so they could reach the pool table. Bryce split them up and then walked me over to the table where George and the older boys were playing.

George broke and eventually claimed solids. Then he handed me the cue. I could back down in the face of prepubescent anger. With a forced smile, I shook my head. His lips curled.

"It would be too challenging for someone of your abilities."

Bryce caught my eye as he balanced someone on his shoulder. He would always take the dare. I guess it could be fun. "Fine. Though I think you're uncle should at least be able to teach me the rules."

George called his younger cousins off their uncle, quite comfortable at ordering people around. I tried very hard not to roll my eyes, though when Bryce finally came up to me, I couldn't resist muttering, "So that's what you looked like at fourteen."

"I was worse," he promised. "Now how about I help you shut him up?"

I rolled my eyes and leaned over the table. Bryce leaned over me, completely swallowing me up. He had discarded his jacket and the silk tie brushed against shoulders, tickling me. I was much more distracted by the heat emanating from him, especially on the hand he had dangerously near me rear. But I pretended to listen as he 'showed' me how to line up a shot.

"Don't be nervous," Bryce instructed, hand capturing mine. "Just line up and...you know what? I think I've imparted all my knowledge."

He stood up abruptly, kissing my bare shoulder. As he walked away to where the younger boys were struggling to play he called: "Just because you're my nephew and I love you George—and Mike—doesn't mean I won't beat the shit out of you two if you don't stop looking down her dress."

A collective gasp went around the room as Bryce swore. He spent a lot of time trying to bribe them not to tell their parents. The two boys in question just blushed and then gaped as I made the shot. I gave them as a small smile. "Wow. I guess your uncle really did teach me well."

I screwed up a couple times to let them save face, but I think they picked up on that. They weren't stupid. They weren't bad, there was potential there. But they hadn't grown up white trash and there I had an advantage.

Lex—or Alexi, as he informed me when he introduced himself—ran up and demanded I teach him. Mike reluctantly seconded that. I glanced up, but Bryce was too busy sword fighting with two of the littler ones to notice. What was the harm?

Alexi was a natural, even if he was way too short. George made fun of him, but shut up when I kissed Alexi on the cheek for being the best one there. Alexi and I were trampling his older cousins when Bryce finally decided he'd had enough of getting hit with a pool cue.

"We have to get going. We have a boring party to get to," Bryce complained. However reluctant he was, I was ten times more so. Even though the children had given me a really good idea as to why I was still not the worst case scenario.

"Five more minutes," Alexi begged. "Please, Uncle Bryce. Please."

"Yeah, Bryce. Just give me five more minutes with him and he'll be a professional pool shark before you know it."

"Five minutes?" Bryce pretended to consider the offer.

I don't know if it was the abundance of blonde, blue eyed boys or the phrase but all of a sudden I found it difficult to breath. My mind flashed back to the portal, to a Gillian MacArthur not much older than myself, crying over a child. But not a daughter.

Oh god...not a daughter...

Panic struck me and I couldn't breathe. I gasped for air, trying to calm myself. But it wasn't working. My own voice, distorted by pain, echoed in my ears... just five more minutes with him...him...my son...oh...

"Gillian," Bryce snapped. "Gillian, calm down. What the hell did you do to her?"

Witches had daughters. Witches couldn't have sons. Witches couldn't have sons unless...

Bryce reached out to grab me but I jerked away, trying to breathe. It wasn't working and I sounded like a broken record. Because witches could not have sons unless the father was a sorcerer.

Savannah was going to kill me when she found out I passed out in a roomful of sorcerers, however miniature.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

* * *

I didn't pass out. I was swaying on the spot, gasping for breath when Alexi pinched my leg. The pain startled me and forced me to concentrate. This was not the time. And how was I going to explain this one? When Bryce advanced the next time, I let him catch me.

"Someone grab a glass of water," Bryce barked. His hands were on my arms, steadying me. "That's what you get for not eating."

"I ate," I snapped. Knowing I had to save the situation somehow, my most basic reflex kicked in. "So since I'm so injured and weak, are you going to do whatever I want? Like let us finish the game?"

Everyone suddenly perked up. Bryce didn't believe it was a ploy—I doubted even the children believed it—but it was an excuse and that was what mattered. He sighed and gave in. I hoped no one noticed how he had to hold me up.

"It was my turn!" Alexi reminded us.

The game would be over soon but I had to struggle not to panic, not to spill my supper on top of the most expensive pool table I had ever played on. Because witches couldn't have sons.

Witches had daughters. Sorcerers had sons. That was the way it had always been and would always be. There was one exception, of course. Savannah. Kristof Nast, sorcerer, had a daughter. So I could have a son. If his father was a sorcerer...

I knew two sorcerers well enough for that, three if you counted Sean and I didn't. Mr Cortez, who was married to the woman I looked up to beyond all others and Bryce—who I had just screwed without much thought to birth control.

It wasn't just the thought of having a child that was making me weak in the knees, even though I was far from ready to take care of anyone. But I could hear the words in my head too clearly. _If your father was still—your father loved you very much too...and if he was here I wouldn't be in this mess... _Bryce couldn't die. I wouldn't let him. Not if there was anything I could do about it. I mean, I had already gotten the guy shot. I couldn't let him die, too.

I could not handle having more blood on my hands.

Savannah and I had dismissed the portal as some sort of fear induced unreality or a distant future. But it suddenly seemed that much harder to believe that it wasn't true. But Bryce had been alive for Savannah to bitch about so he couldn't—she hadn't called him by name. We had assumed it was Bryce, because I knew Sean even less...but maybe giving birth to his nephew made me his responsibility. And Bryce had done a pretty good job of watching out for me, a better one than most people managed—I couldn't see him not taking care of me properly if he set his mind to it.

It partially explained why Leech was a wreck, too. I still didn't understand half the other stuff, but I was becoming increasingly afraid it had been true. Just because I didn't think I could get pregnant, didn't mean I was right.

We won, in part because Bryce insisted on taking my turn. I couldn't have made a shot with my hands shaking the way they were and so I let him. But Alexi's face lit up as he rubbed his victory in his older cousin's face. It was hard to believe this smiling boy was going to grow up and despise me (and my entire race) completely. So I smiled at him and he even gave me a hug and told me he hoped I was okay.

Our departure was quick. Bryce was eager to yell at me in private. We slipped into another room, a quiet sitting room. It was actually much smaller and less opulently decorated than anything else I had seen so far. There was only two chairs with floral patterns in front of the fireplace and few portraits on the walls.

Bryce didn't exactly give me time to admire the scenery. He dragged me to the chairs and practically threw me into one.

"Do you need a doctor or something?" he snapped. "If you're not feeling well you should have fucking said something. God, Gillian, those are my nephews. I don't want them worrying about anything and there you are collapsing—"

"Can I explain yet?"

"No." He threw himself down on the armchair across from me. Then he ran a hand over his face, calming down. "All right, go."

"Do you remember how in the time tear Savannah and I saw the future?"

"What you suspected was the future," Bryce corrected absently. What a distinction to make. But I couldn't take that chance.

"In the future...or maybe they were all different futures..." How was I supposed to know? I dealt with spells in foreign languages, not time travel. "It doesn't matter. There was a kid. I had a kid."

"Did you have a sudden desire to adopt one of my nephews? If so, take George. I can't stand teenagers."

"No. Bryce, shut up, this is important. I...I didn't pay very close attention, seeing me with a kid. It was—it was hard and weird and so I didn't look too closely and Savannah really couldn't because it was my future, not hers, but...I assumed I had a daughter. But I think I was wrong. I think I had a son."

I could see the exact moment when it dawned on him, because that was the moment the Cabal mask slipped on and I was staring at a vacant facade. Bryce leaned back in his chair and regarded me coldy.

"I'm sorry the idea of our reproducing is that repulsive to you, but I'm not going to bother worrying—"

"Was the sex really that unforgettable? Because otherwise, why the hell aren't you more freaked out about this?"

"Gillian, you can't be pregnant."

"Just because you say something can't happen doesn't mean—"

"Even if the potion hadn't worked, you just hugged the most powerful shaman in the western hemisphere. Alba would have known, Gillian. She would have known and said something, even if it was only to congratulate me. So you are not pregnant right this second. Now, all we have to do is be a little bit more careful and that's that."

"I didn't take a potion."

"Yes, you did. When Leech and I made dinner...I thought it wouldn't hurt. It probably made yours taste better, even."

And here I thought I had been throwing myself at him with some subtlety. I chose to blame it on his determination to be prepared and not his certainty that I would be a sure thing. "So I shouldn't worry about birthing your spawn because you've been drugging me behind my back?"

"It was only a couple of times. And I had no choice. Just because you have absolutely no survival instincts doesn't mean I have to let you get yourself killed."

"Killed?"

"You think you know how much my kids would be worth? I don't think you do, Gillian. I think you have grossly underestimated how valuable they'd be—and how fast my grandfather would kill you if he found out you were going to be the mother of the next generation of Nasts."

"So...you were protecting me?"

"He'd definitely try and kill me too," Bryce defended himself.

I rolled my eyes. "Next time you want to violate me in order to save my life, just give me a heads up, okay?"

"It's not like there were any side effects."

"I get it." I hated myself for it, but I understood. If I had been responsible enough to remember I hadn't bothered with precautions, I would have realized a whole lot sooner that Bryce must have already done something to guarantee there were no negative repercussions from our night together. When he hadn't forcibly shoved the potion down my throat, I should have known he had made sure I had consumed it another way. I was the one who threw myself off roofs—Bryce just liked people thinking he did. It hadn't taken me long to notice it was just an act; he always had a safety net. He couldn't afford not to. "But whatever you think you gave me, I still saw myself with a kid in the future."

Just saying the words made the fear from the billiards room return, as the memory began repeating itself in all its horrific desperation. Just five more minutes...

"Our children wouldn't be that scary."

"Yes, they would." A child with my ability to lie and his ability to read people, his ability to get things done and my desperate desire to prove something? The thought was terrifying. "We'd breed cult leaders."

He laughed at this, actually laughed, like this entire situation was funny and not completely horrific. To my surprise, however, he stopped when he saw my face. "You're still freaked out."

"You're the only sorcerer I've ever slept with...probably the only one I ever will. So that means it's your kid, too." I was going to hurl. "Only...you weren't there. I told my son his father was dead. I mean, I could have been lying. You could have left—"

"I wouldn't have left."

Call me a fool, but I believed him. Not just because his face screamed there was no way in hell he would ever be even the tiniest bit like his mother, but because of more practical reasons. I had felt her pain when she said those words—more pain than I felt comfortable remembering. She—I, whatever—had been speaking about someone who was dead. I knew it. That wasn't the reason I gave Bryce.

"I know. You'd have to have been dead. Otherwise, I wouldn't have..." I took a deep breath and went on with it. "I'm not the idiot you think I am, you know. If you were to knock me up—or if it turns out you were wrong about Alba knowing—if I was...the first thing I would do—well, the first thing would be to get completely hammered. But after that I'd go and take care of it. Savannah's the best case scenario for a Cabal bastard, and I really doubt there's another Paige and Lucas Cortez out there. I couldn't keep it. Unless...unless you really were dead. If it was...it was the only way for you to...I hate your family, but I couldn't take away their last bit of you."

God, I was a sap.

"You'd murder your own flesh and blood?"

This time I was the one who was laughing. Here I was being all touchy feely and Bryce looked like he wanted to strangle me with his own hands. "You do not get to be morally opposed to abortion, you jackass. Your entire life is financed on the misery of others."

"So, I can't ever make moral judgements?"

"Pretty much. Yeah."

He rolled his eyes, but changed the subject because I think he got that we weren't ever going to agree on this one. "So my death has been predicted by an unexplained supernatural phenomenon? That might have been nice to know _yesterday_. Did you see anything else I might consider vaguely important?"

"Besides you being dead?" Stalling wasn't going to work, so I spat it out. "Your grandfather is dead. Savannah says she got Lucas killed and Leech...Savannah finds him dead in his house. Old-fashioned noose. She and Sean seem to hate each other and my kid is getting raised by Nasts. And then I slit my wrists."

He was slightly paler when I finished, but he kept his voice composed. "You didn't think I might find it important to know my best friend kills himself? Or that my grandfather could die? Christ, Gillian."

"I'm sorry, all right. I just..."

"Think there's no better way to deal with shit than to pretend it doesn't exist and then lie about what you can't ignore?"

I flipped him off. There wasn't really any response I could make that wouldn't make me sound overly defensive.

"We need to talk about what you saw," he said finally. It almost sounded like he was trying to be sensitive about it—just what I needed, something else I couldn't handle. But just like the first time, he didn't push when I so obviously couldn't handle it. He didn't dare try in his grandfather's house. "We can do it tomorrow. In the meantime, Alba..."

"What about her?"

He shook his head. "I never thought I'd have to go that far, but if I did, it's not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all."

"I don't want to know." He ignored me.

"If I had a bastard out there, even if you were the mother—especially if a Cortez witch was the mother—he'd have to listen to me. Actually listen to me, for a change. Hell, he'd have to do everything I wanted."

"I am not having your spawn, idiot. Even less now that you just pointed out that Thomas would kill me for it."

"That's only if I wasn't on board with it. But if I asked you, I'd make sure he didn't kill you. Hell, it might even be better if I married you. That way the kid would be the legitimate heir and even he wouldn't touch you then."

"And that is why you don't get to be morally opposed to anything, ever," I snarled. "I may have sold a child I couldn't afford to take care of anyway to the evil half of its family, but I wasn't doing it to make myself more_ comfortable_."

Something that might have been spit flew out of my mouth as I finished, but I didn't have time to be embarrassed before Bryce answered.

"You're right."

"What?"

"You heard me." He stood up, pulling me to my feet, not quite looking me in the eye. "For the first time in your life, Gillian, you are speaking sense."

"Is the world going to end now?"

"Maybe." I closed my eyes, just in case, but the only thing that happened was that Bryce snorted and offered up an explanation.

"It's this room. It was my grandmother's—the only room in the whole house Grandpa let her decorate. Whenever she'd come over, this was where he'd talk to her. Dad always said Grandpa married her specifically because he couldn't stand her, because that was the smart thing to do. No one could get to him through her because if someone tried to kill her he would just ask them to do it sooner rather than later. I never saw my grandfather happier than the day she died."

"See? You can't marry me, even if it's just to fuck with your grandfather. You don't hate me that much."

"I don't hate you at all. But in here I can't stop thinking that it's smarter if everyone I know was just useful and not..." He sighed. "Come on. Let's go get Alba to tell you you're overreacting."

* * *

Alba was easy to spot and not just because she was a spot of pink in a sea of black. The crowd had thinned out some since dinner, out into the garden, Bryce said, or to back rooms. I didn't need to be told what was going on in there—there were going to be a few more unexplained disappearances in town tonight.

She was talking to her husband, also a chunky fellow, and didn't notice us approach. I wasn't eager for this to happen, though I knew it would help calm me down. I don't know why I was so nervous but what if she had made a mistake before? What if I was in the middle of a majorly sucky future and I just didn't know it yet?

Alba spotted us first and Bryce and her exchanged glances that went over my head. Evidently, she understood, because she left her husband and met us halfway, along the side of one wall. A few people were sill staring at me, but for the most part the novelty of whispering about a witch seemed to have worn off.

"What is it, my darling boy?" Alba greeted us. "You look..." But she trailed off to nothing.

Bryce lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear. There were too many people around to ask if his pretend girlfriend was pregnant because she was scared because she had seen a vision of a horrible future. Instead, he settled for a brief: "We need to know exactly what you picked up when you touched Gillian before."

"I love it when you run to your Aunty Alba. Now then, you want everything? Pulse? Lung capacity? Those actually quite impressive, though she's deficient for most major vitamins and there's this nasty, unnatural—"

"Is she pregnant?" Bryce spit out.

"No. Bryce, if you're trying—"

"I'm not trying anything. Just double checking."

She did not seem pleased by that. "She's not pregnant. And won't ever be if she doesn't get her weight up."

Great. Alba sounded like my doctor.

Still, I let out the breath I had been holding and glanced up at Bryce. He smiled at my obvious joy—I couldn't help but throw my arms around the pink teletubbie. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome. Oh dear boy, I might have to forgive her for stealing you away from me."

"I'm just letting her think that, love," Bryce promised her as I let go. "You're always first in my heart."

Alba pulled him to her, enveloping him to her. She said something, softly in his ear, and when he stepped away, he was blushing. He wouldn't look me in the eye, but he took my arm with a quick word of thanks.

"Cougar," I muttered under my breath. She should keep her damn claws to herself.

Bryce just laughed. I could hear his relief, even though we couldn't exactly say anything on the crowded dance floor.

We went back through the hallway, though it was deserted by now. Bryce pulled me through a door. There was another huge room on the other side, more doors and eventually we came to the library.

It was perfect. Exactly what a library should look like. The shelves were made of an old wood that had recently been polished, gleaming in the firelight. There were plush dark green chairs nearby so you could read in comfort. The carpet was smooth but not distracting. And the books! Old and battered, they went up two stories. There was a small balcony on the second floor, and a twisted old staircase opposite the fireplace that led up to it. Sitting in one corner was a huge grandfather clock and the other had an old upright piano.

Bryce shut the door behind me and burst out laughing. Turning to me, he asked: "So?"

I threw my arms around him. "Thank you."

"Not that I did anything, but you're welcome. Just don't—no more hyperventilating in front of the impressionable nephews, okay?"

Bryce leaned into me, trapping me between him and the couch. When I nodded, he kissed me hungrily, lifting me up until I was sitting on the back of the couch, making it easy for me to wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer to me.

He broke away laughing. "Remind me to kill George. I swear the little punk kept trying to look up your dress."

"It's very nice under my dress," I said, raining kisses along his jaw.

A hand ran up my legs and disappeared under the hem of my dress. "I think I'm going to have to agree."

"It's so nice when we get along."

"Thank you for coming tonight," he said sincerely. "Did you see Grandpa's face? I thought he was going to have a heart attack.

I giggled even as I said: "You're horrible."

"You get off on it."

And he could tell. My dress was going to be a wrinkled mess in the morning. It was bunched too far up to be safe, as Bryce stood between my legs and kissed me.

A sudden bang caused me to jerk in his arms. "What the hell was that?"

"It's an old room. Things squeak," Bryce dismissed, but he took it as a sign and pulled away. It was the smart thing to do, considering we shouldn't do anything in his grandfather's house. I was still disappointed. So I got stupid.

"If the idea of bastard children hadn't occurred to you before tonight, did you bring me here just for fun? Or do you just want your family to hate you?" I asked as I smoothed down my dress.

"Sean doesn't hate me. And everyone else already hates me. It's what I'm good at."

He said it proudly, but it was so obviously false I had to say something.

"Those kids love you. And you have been known to have other good moments."

"They're family. I have to be nice to them. They're the only ones."

"What about me?"

"Because I've been so fabulously nice to you."

"You did save my life. You even ignored how I got you shot, remember?"

But he didn't match me teasing tone. "I needed you to save Savannah—and only because my father was there."

"Well, you did buy me this pretty dress that everyone but you thinks looks lovely on me."

"Just so you would look the part, to piss Grandpa off."

Now I was beginning to get annoyed. Why couldn't he just take a damn compliment already?

"Apologizing after you were a jerk?"

"Leech made me—and it's the only way to deal with your hysterics."

I was on the verge of yelling and he had taken a step back, nostrils flaring. "Taking me to Alba?"

"Like I could stand the thought of having offspring with you."

"Why are you so defensive about this?"

"Why are you pushing it?"

My hands were on my hips and I was turning red in anger. It was a stupid, silly compliment. Was it that hard to accept? Why did everything have to turn into some sort of epic power struggle around him?

I was trying not to scream when I told him: "I'm not saying you're a nice person or—heaven forbid!—a _good_ person. I'm just trying to say you're not a completely abhorrent monster twenty-four seven. What's the problem here?"

Maybe he didn't have an answer; maybe he didn't want to share it. But all he said was: "We're dropping this."

"So declares the almighty Bryce Nast," I snarled.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up everywhere, but I didn't say anything. He could go to hell for all I cared.

He ignored me and walked over to the upright piano in the corner. It was a deep brown, almost black, but the ivory keys were a blinding white. Someone had taken great care of the instrument. The minions, probably. Bryce shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie. He turned to hand me the jacket but decided the couch was the safest. When his sleeves were rolled up, he put his hands into position.

Bryce was good. He was better than good. He might even have been better than excellent.

It was a jazzy piece, nothing I could identify though it was vaguely familiar. It was all flats and off beats. His hands danced up and down the keys, fingers stretching over huge expanses of notes. I found myself wanting to smile. And then he began to sing. The lyrics were truly ridiculous and I allowed the smile to come out.

He noticed and grinned back, like a kid a candy store and then smashed his hands on the keys. Abruptly he switched songs, something a little slower. I recognized this one. _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_.

He tilted his head, inviting me to sit down. I was still too pissed, so he played some Coldplay. When he couldn't remember how the second part of _Clocks_ went he switched to something classical. "Chopin," he said, but I was ignoring him. When he started playing _Hit Me Baby (One More Time)_ I sat down.

Now that he had me, he asked: "Do you know to play _Heart and Soul_?"

"I've never even touched a piano," I admitted.

"Shocking. Alright, Piano 101. Put your hands like this." I copied his movements, but he wasn't satisfied. "Arch your hands, elbows higher up. Shift the left hand over a two keys. Good. And put the right...here. Now pay attention."

It wasn't an easy instrument to play, that was for sure. Bryce made fun of my much smaller hands continuously. But, strangely enough, he was actually a good teacher and eventually I could do all the chords he wanted me to.

"Okay. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Four. Go."

I dutifully began playing. The notes didn't come out in the crisp way they did for Bryce but they were the right notes. I slipped a little when he began playing beside me, but I fudged my way back on track. It was the same chords over and over again, but he managed to make it sound actually good.

Finally, he started hitting random keys and I stopped. "You're amazing."

He laughed in my face. "Everyone can play _Heart and Soul_. It's to the piano what _Happy Birthday_ is to songs. Even if you've been living under a rock, you know it. Which says something about your childhood, but I'm not going to go there."

"I meant the way you play. It's just...it just looks natural, that's all." I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You are something else, I'll give you that. What's your plan when insulting me to my face stops working entirely?"

"You'll be getting a lot more jewellery then, probably."

"Thousands of dollars just to make me feel inferior. Not much of a bargain, is it?"

"Half a million, actually."

"What?"

He glanced down pointedly at the large rock around my neck. "Diamonds aren't as cheap as you."

"You're insane," I said, almost impressed. "You better have been serious about letting me keep it."

"Of course I was."

"Of course. Because you can afford it. And I can't. Can't afford you at all. Bryce? A friendly warning—I hated you more when you weren't trying to make me. I guess I'm just difficult that way."

"Very difficult," he agreed. He didn't stop playing, but he didn't take his eyes off me either. "Not that I'm complaining."

"You would never do that," I said. And because we were getting along again, I switched to something less explosive. "I didn't peg you as the piano playing type. I wouldn't think you'd have the patience."

"I could play this old thing blindfolded. I've always hated these damn things so when I was little my dad used to let me sneak off and he'd send Sean to get me if it was really important. I practically taught myself on this baby."

"All by yourself?" The Nasts and their modestly.

"I might have taken some lessons." When I gave him a look, he shrugged. "For years. But it was on and off. I kept changing my mind about which instrument I wanted to play. At the end I knew how to play a lot of things decently and nothing great."

"What else can you play? Besides the guitar." I could just picture him, in high school, some eyebrow piercing, guitar on his back and scowl on his face. It was too easy.

"Shut up."

"You're so predictable. What else?"

"Drums. Piano. Trumpet. Harmonica—don't make fun, it's counts. And the mandolin—don't ask."

I laughed. "I can't believe you didn't try and become a rock star."

"I did," he said without embarrassment. "I mean, I was biding my time 'studying' music in college, but Rock God was definitely the goal. But it was cool. You learn loads of useless shit at college."

The way his expression fell, there was practically a neon sign saying that had not ended well.

"What happened?"

"My dad died."

He was playing something old and fast—so fast that I could barely see his fingers moving. So instead of watching his hands—no wonder they were so talented—I watched him instead. He seemed different and I took me a while to figure out why that was.

He asked: "Do you play anything?"

"I wish. Dana had a bass. She wouldn't let me near it. I did take recorder lessons for some school project or something. I wasn't any good."

"You should try one of the brass instruments. The rest of you is too small, but you do have great lungs. Maybe the trumpet."

"You offering to teach me?"

He smiled down at me and then it occurred to me why he seemed so changed—for the first time since I'd known him, Bryce actually seemed happy. Not just amused, but content. I ran may hands gently on top of the ivory, careful not to disturb him as he played _The Sun Will Come Out (Tomorrow)_. Bryce and show tunes—not something I would have pictured. I didn't feel like explaining my epiphany, but I had to say something.

"Why didn't you go back after your father died, since you love music so much?"

Even if I hadn't known the song, his mistake would have been obvious. But he didn't stop, forged ahead even if the song had lost most of its previous polish.

"Grandpa thinks it's because I wanted to be like my father. So does Sean—and probably everyone else." I waited patiently as he finished without much fanfare. "And, yeah, I didn't go to Harvard because I suddenly decided I liked Boston. Who the hell wants to live in Boston? But I stopped studying music because...it's just wasn't fun anymore. Not with Dad..."

"So you decided to join the family business and see how far you could push your grandfather?"

"Contrary to what people believe, Grandpa doesn't really let me get away with anything. There's a bottom line and only when I affect that do I become a problem. Even you—you're an annoyance and a disappointment, but you won't harm the bottom line. You only become a concern when you have a legal claim on the assets of the corporation. So while he might try and buy you off—and you're welcome to whatever you can get out of him—he's not going to try and kill you."

"Joy. So what is the going rate for abandoning a Cabal boyfriend?"

"I think Tyler Boyd's girlfriend got a cool two million, but I think she had a sex tape or something equally stupid. Or her dad was on the board of directors—I can't remember. Since you lack those distinctions, Grandpa'll probably open negations at a quarter million. But if you work hard, you might be able to get the full six zeros."

"I'll have to remember that." The worst part was he seemed serious. Insanely, I wondered how the accountants labelled that sort of expense. "Aren't you worried about disappointing him?"

Bryce shrugged, concentrating on the music. "Grandpa and I...have an understanding of sorts. The only person I ever really worried about disappointing was my dad and that stopped when I found out he was fucking Eve."

I had suspected, from Savannah's comments, but I hadn't thought Bryce had known. Not at all. "Eve, mother of Savannah?"

"No, Eve, mother of the fucking human race." Bryce looked at me like I was an idiot—I had only wanted confirmation so I wouldn't stick my big foot in my mouth. "Of course, I'm talking about Eve Levine."

"How did you find that out?"

Bryce snorted. "There was a reason I dragged you to see Leech and it wasn't because he's a very good necromancer. He could have been, maybe, but not now."

"Why aren't you more freaked out about that?"

"What do I care what Dad does? He might as well be happy. Plus, it's a great excuse to do whatever the hell I want. If Dad's spending his afterlife doing something he never could do in real life, why should I have to listen now?"

"Stop pretending your some sort of rebel. What are you doing that your grandfather hasn't expressly approved of?"

"You."

I elbowed him, but he just laughed. "That doesn't count."

He switched to something from _Star Wars_, what I think was Darth Vader's theme as he easily replied, "It's close enough."

"Bryce? Why did you bring me here tonight? Why a witch?"

"To prove a point. And it was funny. In his own way, Grandpa got a kick out of it, at least until—he didn't want to have this stupid party. You gave him an excuse to be a bastard the whole night."

"He enjoyed it until I started talking in German." I wasn't about to be distracted this time. "That's what set him off, wasn't it?"

"Gillian..."

"Does he not like thinking about the Old Country, or whatever?"

Seeing how I was not going to let this go—and maybe, possibly, feeling a little bit guilty about snapping at me earlier—Bryce relented. "It wasn't...not how you said it, but what you said."

"You don't even know what I said."

"I got the 'fear God' part. I could guess the rest." He sighed. "Only three or four people at that table would have realized what you said was significant in anyway. And I'm one of them."

"So? I'm sorry that it's sort of private information, but he—"

"You heard Austin. They know why I brought you here. They know it's bullshit. Grandpa did too; and then you had to ruin it."

"Because I knew something that most of those self-important assholes don't know?"

"No. Because I told you something..."

Finally, I understood. I hasn't crossed a line—I had just told them Bryce had. They didn't realize he had done so as part of a fucked up sex bet, they just knew he had done it and would draw some unfortunate conclusions from it. He had told me something personal; now they thought it _was _personal. A tiny shudder ran through me. Because there was only one thing more dangerous than being dragged to Thomas Nast's birthday party as his grandson's fake girlfriend.

Having Thomas think I was his _actual _girlfriend.

"Bryce? Why would it freak everyone out that your girlfriend was a witch?"

"Because when my children inherit this company, they better not be girls."


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

* * *

I burst out laughing. It was unintentional, but unavoidable. But really? I thought I was the designated crazy person in this pairing. He waited silently and I finally realized he wasn't laughing with me.

"You're serious?" I couldn't believe it. "You're serious. But you can't be serious. Bryce, you're delusional. Your kids won't ever touch this company. Cabal inheritance is very clear. It goes to the eldest—and then to his children, not yours. Naming someone heir almost never works." Sure, the CEO might try and claim otherwise but there had only been five cases in five hundred years where the Cabal had not gone to the oldest son...not while he was alive at any rate.

"What do you know about Cabal inheritance?" He sounded so amused I was almost offended.

"I know I read every book on it when Savannah wanted a way to get Lucas out of his situation. Every single book I could find, back from the Inquisition. I wrote stats and charts and even drew a pictogram. So yeah, I know about Cabal inheritance. And I know both your brother and your uncle have a much better claim, not to mention better suited personalities."

"You never do listen to me, Gillian. I didn't say I had any right to it, I just said my children are going to inherit. Before he lets himself die, Grandpa's going to ensure my kids are in line for succession."

"But he can't!"

"Why not?"

That was a very good point. CEO's were Pharaoh, Caesar, Emperor _and_ God to their companies. He could do what the hell he wanted to do. That didn't mean the board wouldn't try and have him assassinated afterwards, but he could say whatever he wanted.

"Has he told you?"

"No. That doesn't mean I'm not right." He sounded defensive, but this time he didn't lash out. "He won't leave it to Uncle Josef and Sean—I'm technically next in line after him."

"Only because he hasn't had kids yet." And as dumb as it makes me sound, it was only after I uttered the words that I finally got why Bryce saw his descendents running the company, and not his brother's. There was only one thing worse in a company that passed from father to son than sleeping with the enemy—sleeping with someone who couldn't have sons. "Savannah must have told me a hundred times and I just never got it."

"Got what?" Bryce asked cautiously.

"He never looked down my dress, you know. Not even once."

"Not much to look at, is there?"

"Doesn't stop you."

Bryce grinned and took a long look before kissing the tops of my breasts gently. I tried not to tremble as he slowly worked his way up my neck. Again the room seemed to protest, something creaking upstairs. This time, I ignored it—I couldn't think about much besides how terribly talented his lips were. When he got to my mouth, he gave me a firm peck and then said: "Maybe you're just not his type."

"I'm twenty years old and have no obvious deformities. I should be everyone's type." He laughed and dragged me onto his lap. "Plus, your overt-heterosexuality clearly has to be overcompensating for something and Sean seems like the only one you'd do anything for."

"I'm not compen—shut up, Gillian." I giggled as he wrapped his hands around my waist. "I'd help Leech, if he asked for it. And apparently Savannah. And you."

"What about your nephews?"

"Depends whose kids they were. That's the problem with Sean, you know. You can't have kids if you're a fucking f—"

"Bryce."

"I say the shit in front of him all the time and I still don't think he knows I know even though he cringes every single time. I'm his fucking brother and he thinks I can't tell. I bet I knew before he did."

The Nast arrogance never failed to surprise me. "Really now?"

"Girls are all I can think about and he thinks _Baywatch_ is boring? Yeah, I knew there was something different about him. Once you suspect it's the easiest thing to confirm. A flinch here, an inappropriate boner there...and I got 'Dira to do a little recon for me. So yeah, I figured it out pretty fucking quickly. But Sean's always been a little slow when it comes to sex."

"Yeah, brag about the fact that you're easy." He pulled me closer, so that there was barely an inch between us. "Your grandfather knows for sure about Sean?"

"A year after my father died Grandpa came down from breakfast one day and just asked me. I didn't say anything, but I think...I think he figured it out anyway. Grandpa's been giving me hints about getting married since."

I didn't ask how old he had been then; I didn't want to know. No wonder he considered the two of us having children a victory over his grandfather and not just a calamity of epic proportions.

"So you brought a witch to try and scare him?"

"Yeah. I don't think it really worked until you ran your mouth, so I guess I should thank you for that." He didn't look thankful, though, as he played with the tendrils of blonde hair that were draped on my neck. "He still won't hurt you, though. Sometime tonight he'll talk to me, try and talk me out of it. I'll agree, promise you're just a stage, and you'll be safe."

"And you'll marry someone you can't stand at all." Because he truly thought it was the best thing to do.

"Eventually." He gave me half a smirk. "Someone whose genes won't birth midget cult leaders."

I giggled, though I couldn't help asking: "Why doesn't your grandfather just name Josef?"

"Because Uncle Josef is the most qualified, the most talented and the one with the best attitude. He's pretty much desperate to be named heir and he's paid his dues to the company." Bryce smirked. "And yet...he doesn't quite understand our real estate sector. And he has no vision. Hand him a plan and he's a hundred times more efficient than anyone else on the planet. Ask him to come up with an original idea and he couldn't do it if his life depended on it. But all that would be nothing except..."

He took his time, distracting himself by kissing me, and I let him because it felt nice and I trusted he'd get to the point eventually. "Six months after my dad died I got arrested. Drunk and disorderly. Grandpa got me out of it and then locked me up in his house. For the next two years, I didn't leave, but that's—my uncle came over about a month after. He wanted to go over some deal, confirm with the Nast CEO like a good employee should. And Grandpa lost it. Not that he ever raised his voice, but he just got dead quiet and told my uncle he was an utter failure and that he would never, ever inherit. Because he just wasn't as good as Kristof."

Older siblings were like that.

"He was just angry."

"And drunk. But he still said it."

"Bryce, that doesn't mean—"

"Yes it does."

"Who thinks like—" I didn't need to finish the sentence. Thomas Nast's stubbornness was legendary.

"Plus, Grandpa promised the company to Dad. He promised and it wouldn't be fair to take it back just because Dad did something as inconvenient as die. That means Sean has to inherit."

"And once Sean inherits, someone else has to provide the heirs."

"Exactly."

"It would have been better for everyone if your father's sons didn't hate working for the Cabal."

The fact that Sean talked to Savannah meant he was nowhere near cold enough to run this company. While I did think Bryce could play the sociopath well enough to survive being in charge, I was getting the distinct impression he would rather being playing the piano.

"Sean doesn't really hate it. He just gets squeamish sometimes." It took him another long moment before he realized he hadn't bothered to defend himself. "Just because I've been alternating between actively trying to quit and waiting around to get fired since I was sixteen doesn't mean I'd hate working for the Cabal."

"I hear CEOs actually have to do work. You might break out in a rash or something if you tried."

"You're not funny." He sighed. "I wouldn't mind the work if I wasn't shit at it. But I've never been good at business. I'm good when it's one-on-one, when I can _see_ the person I'm supposed to be ordering around. But when it's just me and sheets of paper with numbers on them...I suck. That's why grandpa wants me to have kids so fast, so the company can go from Sean to them."

"I'm sure you're not that bad."

"I'm pretty bad." He perked up a little. "I am pretty great at hiring people who can cover my ass for me, though. If you can't be good at something, pay the people who are to do it for you."

"I still don't get why you can't just quit before he asks you do to all this."

He glanced down, unable—unwilling—to explain this last little bit to me. I remembered the eagle on his arm, remembered how he talked about his grandfather and sort of suspected I knew.

"Gillian, it's—"

He shouldn't have to say it if he didn't want to. He didn't owe me that. I kissed him instead, grinding against him, hands tangling in his hair, making him kiss me back until I couldn't breathe. He groaned under me and when we broke apart, he was pouting.

"I've always wanted to screw someone on this piano."

"Too bad knocking up the witch leads to being dead, right?"

"It really might be worth it," he said with a smile. He closed the piano and lifted me up, placing me onto of the closed keys. He began kissing his way down as I tightened the legs I had wrapped around him. His hands were everywhere, running up my legs, over my body, brushing my hair away so he could kiss me even harder. Still..."We really can't."

"There are other things we can do."

I liked the sound of that. "Like what?"

"I'm sure you can think of something."

I pushed him backwards, just a little. "Like my shoes?"

He laughed and placed a kiss on my ankle. He didn't need much encouragement to start kissing his way up.

"God, could you two cut that out?"

Bryce jerked upright and I almost slipped off the piano. My leg went down and I just barely managed not to ruin the piano bench with my heel. Bryce took a step closer as we both looked up to see Savannah storming down the staircase. She was all dressed up, wearing the black dress from the store. And she looked rather upset.

Which was nowhere how angry I was at that moment. Because Bryce had a very talented mouth and she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.

Bryce recovered first. "What the fuck are you doing here? Where's Leech? How did you get in? How—how long have you been fucking there?"

He was furious. Great. I was going to get to witness another fight. And they both looked so nice, too.

"I'm researching time tears. Leech is guarding the door and he's the one who got me in here. I've been up there since before you came in. By the way? Gillian was right. You were being way too defensive about the being nice thing."

Eager to avoid rehashing, I changed the topic, "I didn't see Leech."

"He'd be by the door upstairs," Bryce dismissed. "Only the inner family's allowed the way we came in. The nonfiction books are upstairs too. I could have just brought them for you."

"But what fun would that be?" Savannah asked. "Besides, I wanted to wish Gramps happy birthday in person."

"He really would have you shot. Even with Leech, there's no way in hell you could sneak in. We have a clairvoyant."

"They're doing a shitty job then, because I'm clearly here."

I slipped off the piano and tried to smooth down my dress. "Did you find anything?"

Savannah shook her head but said, "They have some really cool elemental spells in this one book. I've been copying some of it out and I think we could get it to work. Maybe create a little twister or something."

"I cannot be listening to this," Bryce muttered. "You cannot be saying this. They'll have to kill all of us."

"Couldn't you just order them not to? I mean, if you're going to—" She broke off when her brother glared, but recovered quickly enough. "Hey, I'm not going to forget you said you'd help me."

Bryce started to look annoyed, so I figured now would be the time to tell Savannah about the more unfortunate news. She wasn't nearly as happy to hear my body was recuperating as I had been, but she couldn't think of a reason for the visions we had seen either.

"Leech can look that stuff up later. At least that means Gramps won't be around to annoy me. Express vision from the future and all that. Though if before was the two of you refraining from making a huge mistake, I hate to see what the alternative was."

"We should have fucked on the piano," I muttered. Savannah pretended to gag and I flipped her off. Further conversation was cut off by a knock on the door. Bryce waved her back upstairs and Savannah nodded, gave me a tiny salute and raced quietly upstairs. Bryce dragged me to the couch and then went to open the door.

The door creaked opened and Bryce relaxed. It was only Sean. I crossed my legs and tried not to wish Kirstof Nast had just never had any children.

Sean leaned against the back of the chair nearest to them, beside Bryce's jacket. "I knew I'd find you here."

"I'm a predictable guy," Bryce agreed.

"Grandpa wants to see you in the study. Alone."

Bryce sighed and looked at me; I tried not to let onto how scared I was at the thought of being left by myself, but he figured it out anyway. "I can't leave her. She's liable to run away."

"I only tried to do that once, thank you very much. And you were being a jerk," I muttered.

"Oh, come on. That was probably the nicest I ever was to you."

"I thought we weren't talking about how nice you were anymore." Remembering our previous argument just served to remind me I was still angry at him. "You declared it off-limits, remember? It's bad enough you dictate everything, but you could at least be consistent about it."

"Bryce," Sean hissed. He had been watching our discussion with a nervous expression and now he gave me a pained smile. "You didn't...pay her to come tonight, did you?"

"What is with your family and calling me a whore?" I glared at Bryce, it clearly being his fault. But I told Sean. "He actually kidnapped me."

"I'm being helpful," Bryce protested.

Sean looked both oddly touched and ready to strangle his brother. "You're not even really dating her?"

Bryce shifted closer to me. "No. But Grandpa won't know that. I plan to stand up for our love for ten whole minutes before letting myself get manfully persuaded that she's just in it for the money."

Sean sighed. "I love you but you're such an idiot."

"You're not pissed?"

"I can't be. It was sweet. Stupid, but—"

"Shut up. You'll look after her while I go get my ass handed to me?"

Sean nodded and gave me an apologetic smile. I guess after Kristof gave all the manners to Sean there were none left for his other children. I fixed Bryce's tie as he pulled down his sleeves, trying to smooth out the wrinkles, rubbing off the lipstick and any other signs of my presence. I guess it was a good thing we had started fighting—visiting his grandfather post-coital was probably too much even for Bryce Nast. Maybe.

"Remember you can't hit your grandfather!" I called as he left the room.

He flipped me off as he went out the door, because he was mature like that. I felt guilty grinning when I looked at Sean so instead I said, "I suppose you'd prefer to be back in the hall?"

"Only if you feel comfortable." I didn't and it must have shown on my face because he followed it up with, "Has Bryce shown you the garden?"

I shook my head and he offered me his arm. I took it and was surprised to realize the brothers were exactly the same height—the fact that I knew that made me worry. I had to look too far up to look Sean in the eye.

"I'm really sorry about dinner. Bryce should have known better than to bring you."

"He shouldn't have to 'know better.' He should be allowed to bring whoever the hell he wants."

"You know you've been hanging around him too long when you start sounding like him. He must have given me that speech a hundred times. How long have the two known each other?"

"A while..." I said breezily. I almost wished we hadn't given away the game. Sean looked gullible enough. It could have been fun, creating a fictitious relationship with someone much too kind to be Bryce. I could have made it quite romantic. Oh well.

We talked about Savannah—as I distracted him from looking around and seeing Savannah—because really, what does the heir to the biggest Cabal in North America have to talk about to a penniless witch almost ten years his junior?

It was cool outside, now that it was getting late. The sky was now black—save the twinkles of tiny stars. There were a few couples talking strolls and a few others...enjoying the scenery. I think I even saw an exotic pink headdress through some of the bushes.

There was only the faint light of the house and a few lamps along the path as we strolled along the main grove. With all the little alcoves along the way, it was the perfect place for secret deals, which was probably the whole point.

We were out there a long time, still walking long after I just wanted to end the conversation. Sean was good at asking polite questions, but I hated talking about myself and I wasn't sure what to ask him about. There wasn't much he could say about his work that I wanted to hear and his personal life was completely off limits. I have to admit I was tempted to go there, to make an offhand comment about a possible girlfriend, but realized I couldn't actually do that. Sean was too nice.

We turned down a side path, feet brushing along the small stones, and almost ran into a couple coming from the other direction. Couple may have been the wrong word. They were a man and a woman, walking steadily beside each, perfectly in time, but neither was looking at the other. In fact, tension was radiating off of both of them.

"Mr Nast," the man said as soon as he saw my companion. "May I have a word?"

I recognized the man as Hollis, the necromancer Bryce had been avoiding all night. He was a tall man—almost reaching the great heights of Leech, with short hair that had once been black but was now salt-and-pepper, heavy on the salt. He was radiating power, but it was undercut by a complete self-consciousness. He wanted people to fear him and that sort of desperation made him much less scary. There was also the most ridiculous sort of worm on top of his upper lip that seemed to move as he glared at the women beside him.

She was much shorter—finally, someone closer to my height. A middle-aged woman, she wasn't slender and the dress she was wearing did nothing to disguise that fact. Her hair was beginning to frizz out of its tight bun, giving her a much more thrown together look than most of the women I had seen tonight. Still, frumpy or not, she looked tough. And I had a long time to study both of them, as they came at us in the night, calling for Sean. They both looked so upset that I wished the trees that lined the path were just a little less thick.

"There's no need to bother Mr Nast over domestic issues, Hollis," she admonished. "You should know better."

I could hear the threat in her voice, even if I didn't understand it. Sean looked between the two of them and waited for them to decide amongst themselves who was right.

"I don't need you to remind me of anything, Mariah. Certainly not in this instance. I merely wished to go over the particulars of the Corey-Stirling deal with Mr Nast before the night was out."

Mariah bristled, like he had slapped her across the face. "The Corey-Stirling deal is under my jur—"

"Then I assume you have informed Mr Nast of the changes I had to make to it this morning."

They glared at each other. Mariah...wasn't she the one who had tried to kill Hollis? The Cabals, I had to admit, were good that way. One day you might be mortal enemies, but the next, if business required, you were the best of friends. Or at least, talking to one another semi-civilly. Sean cleared his throat and addressed Mariah. "Is there something I need to know?"

Something twitched above her eye. But one look at Hollis's face changed her mind. "Yes, sir, if I could just have a moment."

Sean glanced down at me helplessly. He better not— "Hollis, could you stay with Gillian for a minute? I'll be right over there."

And with that he moved away with Mariah, leaving me alone with a scowling necromancer. Because I wanted to keep my mouth open in case I had to scream for help, I asked, "Is your partner a necromancer too?"

"My subordinate," he corrected fiercely, "Also carries that distinction. It is not polite to ask after someone's race."

I blushed and was silent. But Hollis wasn't. "You're here with the younger Mr Nast, are you not?" I confirmed this and a calculated look came into his eye. I tried to see if Sean was still in visual range. He was, but unfortunately he looked completely engrossed with what Mariah was saying. Damn.

"I haven't had the good fortune to speak to him tonight. Where is he?"

That wasn't a request, it was a demand. I figured the truth could only piss him off. "Discussing important business with his grandfather."

"You're not important," Hollis said. I was surprised he had said anything, but I guess insulting the witch pretend-girlfriend wasn't against the company rules. "If you were important he would have introduced you to his friends."

"Bryce has friends?" I said glibly, trying to remember if Bryce had told me anything about Hollis that would help me understand what the hell he was getting at. Unfortunately, mentioning Hollis had Bryce going off into an incoherent rant every time, which meant I knew nothing about what the necromancer could want as he stared at me expectantly. "I didn't know anyone but Leech could put up with him."

I belatedly remembered Paulson, how he was faintly uncomfortable around Leech, and wondered if mentioning him to an actual necromancer was a good idea. But Hollis didn't scowl. All he said was,

"You've met Martin?"

It took me a second to realize Leech must be a nickname and Martin sounded like a good enough first name as any. I nodded.

"You need to storm off, heading down the path for thirty feet before turning right, then left and then right again. And you should hurry."

"No thank you." At least I was polite.

Something close to desperation ran across Hollis's face. "Did Bryce tell you why he hates me?"

And here I thought Bryce had been subtle. When I shook my head, Hollis groaned. Yet even as the grunt of frustration tore past his lips, he came to a realization. "He must have told you Martin is unwelcome here."

"He might have mentioned something like that."

"Then you know it would not be a good idea for you to stand here while security deals with him."

I stared at him, unsure that he meant what I thought he did. Could I take that chance? Bryce said I wasn't valuable enough to kill yet, so I should be safe even if Hollis was just trying to get back at Bryce. I turned to go.

"Good. Like I insulted you. Like you don't want to stay near me for a second longer."

Since I didn't really want to stay anyways, it wasn't that hard to pretend.

I had barely gotten twenty feet when I could make out the sound of flesh hitting flesh. I turned to look behind me, but Hollis was busy arguing with Sean and Mariah. Jackass. I turned the corner, sprinting as fast as I could in heels, wondering what was wrong with all these people.

I turned right, then left, then right again and found myself in a small clearing among the tall bushes. In the center, Leech was crouched as four men—the only way anyone could hope to take on the mountain that was Leech—kicked the everlasting shit out of him.


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

* * *

I quickly cast a knockback spell. I wasn't the best at offensive magic, but I could do it in a pinch. Besides, I wasn't trying to get involved. I was just trying to even the odds a little. One of the four men tumbled backwards and I cast the spell again. The group began to turn their attention towards me. I hastily looked around, but there was no one else around and I doubted Hollis would be coming to help. Maybe Sean would notice I was missing...

"Leave her alone," Leech croaked, trying to stand. One of the men kicked him again and I quickly muttered a fireball spell, even as I backed away. If they tried to physically attack me, my defensive magic wasn't going to last long against four of them.

"Shut up, traitor," one muttered.

"Stop it," I demanded. He just looked so broken, there on the ground. He had to be letting them do this. He was too big and strong just to let this happen without his permission.

"Be quiet, little girl," the one closest to me hissed. "We could do things to you that would give you nightmares for years."

Little girl? Please.

I cut his air off. His friends didn't take the choking too well. They advanced as one. Defying all expectations, Leech stood up and grabbed one of them.

"Leave her alone," he repeated and punched the guy in the jaw.

They started brawling right in Thomas Nast's backyard as I tried to stop the others from both joining in and attacking me.

None of them tried any magic—they must all have been necromancers. And with the absence of dead things, they were pretty much helpless. That didn't mean they weren't capable of good old-fashioned physical violence. When two of them dove at me, I was only able to repel one with the knockback spell. The other grabbed me, kneeing me right in the stomach.

I fell to the ground, but he yanked my up by my hair. The knockback spell failed this time and I screamed as he swung back to hit me. The only way to avoid the full force of the blow was to throw myself at him, clawing and kicking. It threw him off balance enough so his fist didn't hurt as much as it could have. As we fell, a voice rang out:

"What is going on here?"

It was Sean, standing at the opening in the clearing, looking stunned. One look and all four necros jumped up, standing as far away from us as possible. The presence of a Cabal prince had thrown the balance of power decidedly in our favour. Still, there's one in every crowd.

"Necromancer business, sir," the stupid one replied.

"Really?" Sean asked, his tone implying that all business was his business. The stupid one got off lightly. Bryce would have slugged the guy by now. "On my family's property?"

"He was trespassing."

Leech stood up, wincing slightly, and waved hello. "I'm sorry; I'll just go."

Sean looked even more puzzled. "Martin? Is that you?"

"Hey man. Long time no see."

"It's been forever. What are you doing here?" Friendly, joking, as if he couldn't believe someone had voluntarily come to this torture-fest. That was good. If Sean was happy to see Leech there was much less chance that he would abandon us to the wolves.

Leech looked helpless. He couldn't exactly admit he was he guarding the insane, illegitimate sister. I wondered where Savannah was, that she had let this happen. She could have stopped researching for five seconds—that wasn't fair. Savannah was never afraid of a fight. She probably hadn't realized he wasn't guarding the library door anymore.

"Bryce called him to come pick me up," I said as I dusted of my dress. The goon had actually gotten most of the dirt. While I was sure to have a bruise on my stomach, I was alright otherwise. He, on the other hand, was going to have scratch marks on his face for days. And that was ignoring all the burn marks on everybody else. "I told him I wanted to go, and he promised Leech would bring me home."

If Sean was wondering when this imaginary conversation had taken place, he didn't ask. Maybe he could imagine Bryce not telling him something like that, or he was just glad he had a good reason for yelling at the necros. He ignored the implausibility and addressed the four men.

"That will be all."

And just like that, they disappeared into the night. The joys of being a Nast.

I rushed over to Leech, as he swayed dangerously in the wind. He was a mess—and my magic wouldn't help if I couldn't diagnose a bruise from a concussion. The weight he put on me almost knocked me over, but I managed to stay up right with only a few staggered steps.

Sean walked up to Leech. "Why—?"

"They have to. I'm a disgrace," Leech responded. "I should go. I need to get to my car."

"You can't drive like that," Sean pointed out.

"Gillian can take me. She can't got back in there looking like that anyway."

"Thanks," I muttered even as I knew he was right. It would create too much of a scandal if it looked like Thomas Nast had brutalized a harmless little witch, because that was who everyone would think did this to me. Damn. That hair had cost over a hundred bucks. "We should have a doctor look at you first."

"It's just superficial. You should be able to patch me up fine."

"I won't be too sure about that." My knowledge of healing was extensive, but I couldn't fix what I didn't know to be broken. And healing spells took too much out of you to just guess.

But no one bothered to listen to me. Sean went to Leech's other side and the three of us began exiting the garden, Leech limping along between us. Leech kept Sean distracted by asking about his life, all sorts of new projects and hobbies that Bryce must have told him about. It kept Sean from asking the obvious questions. It wasn't until we reached the front and Sean had sent a valet for the car that he asked:

"What was that about?"

"Let it go, man," Leech replied. "I'm not worth it."

"Martin, don't tell me what to worry about."

Leech sighed and I had to work very hard to make sure he didn't get blood on my dress. It was the nicest piece of clothing I was every going to own and I damn sure wanted to be able to wear it again. "Just don't tell your brother."

"He's going to figure it out. And he's really never going to forgive Hollis at this rate. I'll tell him you've gone," Sean told me and I smiled my thanks. We settled Leech in the back seat of his car and Sean handed me the keys. "Drive safely. It was a pleasure to meet you. Sorry about letting you get hurt."

I rubbed my head, where my skull still burned. "Yeah, that wasn't so much fun."

"If it makes you feel better, my brother's going to kill me when he finds out."

"If your grandfather left him alive."

Sean winced—he knew I was right—then waved goodbye. The second he was gone I got into the car, slammed the door shut and demanded: "Where's Savannah? And why the hell did you let her talk you into this?"

Turning the keys, I realized I couldn't feel the pedals. It took me a while to move the seat forward—meanwhile Leech attempted to explain.

"She went home a few minutes ago. We came in separate cars. I was walking towards mine when Mariah saw me. She didn't use to mind me so much, but she owes Hollis and so...she had to. It's not a big deal."

"That doesn't explain why you showed up in the first place."

Leech shrugged, wincing at the pain. "I miss these things. She's never been and she wanted to see and I...I wanted to see everyone again. Even if I couldn't say hello. That's how we got in, you know. Not everyone there hates me."

"Honestly, how could anyone hate you?"

"It's complicated Gillian."

"You keep saying that. Maybe you should try explaining. I'm not as dumb as Bryce keeps saying. If you use tiny words I might be able to understand."

He sighed. But he was injured and I was the one taking care of him. So he told me.

His mother had been a powerful necromancer. Not ambitious, but powerful and proud of what she could do. Her name was Fidelia and she had been beautiful, he said. Always smiling and shouting after him to do his chores. She had talents few necromancers had, secrets handed down through her family, and the Cabal hadn't hesitated in using that. Of course not—she wasn't a woman, she was a tool.

She was thirty-six when the doctors declared her officially unhinged. Leech had been fourteen and was already showing his mother's talents. And when she died two months later—his father was the first to find her, cut her down himself and the old man went from a hard-hearted bastard to a complete and utter one in that time—Leech tried to kill himself.

"Bryce obviously didn't like that plan. So he came up with a better one."

Making deals with Lucifer didn't exactly seem like the brightest of ideas, but it had worked. Lucifer suppressed the glow that marked Leech as a necromancer, which kept the ghosts away. He could still talk to the dead, but only when they explicitly knew they could talk to him. He couldn't use any of his other powers, like creating zombies or opening portals. If he did that, Lucifer would break his part of the deal. And that couldn't be allowed to happen, not after the things Leech and Bryce had done to bring the deal about.

I shivered, even as I tried not to understand. How far would I go to stay sane? I really hoped I never had to make that choice.

* * *

I had gotten Leech into a warm bath and was in the kitchen mixing up some herbs when the front door slammed open. I didn't need to hear my name shouted down the hall to know it was Bryce. Assassins usually have better manners.

"In the kitchen," I called out, finished mixing up the poultice. It should help keep the bruising down—I was especially worried about the one's on Leech's ribs. Could he be bleeding internally? I knew that was bad. I just didn't know how you were supposed to check. What good was all my magic if I didn't even know how to apply it?

"You were supposed to stay with Sean," Bryce snapped as he entered the kitchen.

I ignored that. He was still pristinely dressed while I had gotten attacked by a man twice my size. He could cry me a river.

"You left me. And while you were off smoking cigars with your grandfather and ruining people's lives, the necromancers were trying to beat your best friend to death."

He stared at me for a long while, blue eyes wide and uncomprehending. "I think Sean may have left something out."

So I told him. I knew I shouldn't, because he just kept turning a deeper shade of red as I spoke, but there was no way I could hide what had happened. I didn't want to. If he knew, he would fix it. And even if I suspected I was missing things, I knew there was something to fix.

"Where is he?" Bryce demanded.

"In the bathroom. I thought getting rid of the dirt—Bryce!" I raced after him as he tore down the hall. I had left the bathroom door unlocked and it took him no time at all to throw open the door.

Leech was lying back in the tub, almost relaxed, a state that was immediately disrupted by his friend's arrival. Bryce took one look at the battered man and spun right around, crashing into me as I stood in the doorway.

"Man, calm down," Leech said sitting up. He flinched, body rejecting the sudden movement.

"Calm down? Calm down?" Bryce spun around and stalked forward, anger steadily rising. "This is the last straw. I'm going to fucking kill him."

"He didn't do anything. Hell, he told Gillian to come find me."

"Which almost ended up with her black and blue. Hollis sure does make great fucking plans."

"He only did it because Mariah saw me. You know he can't back down in front of her—she'll have his job so fast—"

"Not that I like the bitch, but I fail to see how that would be a bad thing. Man, you don't do this. Not to your own. It's just not right."

Seeing Bryce Nast try plead the moral high ground was surprisingly more effective than it should have been. Business was clearly wasted on him—he should have been a politician. Demanding faith in something he had no faith in himself was inspiring.

"Dude, you're wrong. And I really don't want to have this conversation naked, so do you mind?"

Leech looked pointedly under the water, where he was trying to cover himself. Bryce turned to glare at me, like this was somehow all my fault. "I'm going to kill him," he called over his shoulder as he pulled me from the room.

I shut the door as Bryce slammed his fist into the closest wall. The noise made me jump a little. He didn't even notice, just flexed his fingers to make sure they weren't broken and then doing it again. I interrupted him when the swearing started.

"This isn't helping," I pointed out. "You need to calm down. I'm already out of my depth here—there's no way I can treat a burst blood vessel."

Bryce struggled for the words: "He just keeps—why would?—how can he do something like that?"

"Well, he did. And there's nothing you can do, I'm assuming, or you wouldn't still be hear blustering."

"You're right. I'd be..." he trailed off, smile appearing as he chuckled darkly.

I shivered even as stirred the bowl of mush still in my hand. I wanted the poultice done as soon as possible. When Bryce still seemed furious, I changed the subject. "So when's your grandfather going to send me my check in the mail?"

He leaned against the wall and slowly banged his head backwards a couple of times. Eyes closed, he might even have been praying. I reached a hand out tentatively. "Bryce?"

Slowly he opened the eye closest to me. It was startling to see just how tired he looked. When he spoke, his voice was lifeless. "He was not impressed. Worse, the occasion of his eighty-fifth birthday inspired him...he wants to punish me. So next Monday—he was kind enough to wait until my vacation officially ends—he's going to name Sean heir."

"He was always going to do that."

"Yeah, but now I really can't quit. Sean can't run the Cabal by himself. He needs someone to take care of the ugly side of things for him—and someone he can name heir eventually. I'll be...stuck."

"I'm sorry." I was. I knew that feeling all too well to wish it on other people, even if they were Nasts.

"Can we not talk about this, Gillian?" he asked me. He begged me.

"You're stronger than I am. Help Leech out of the tub, dry him off and get him into his bedroom. It'll be better if I put the poultice on in there."

He nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Because having him hover over Leech as I applied the poultice just aggravated the bigger man, I ordered Bryce to take a shower, to get him out our hair and to hopefully cool off. The big man looked at me gratefully when Bryce left.

"This doesn't mean I don't think he's partially right," I said. "You're allowed to be mad about what they did to you."

"I don't want to be mad. I want...you know, if this had happened to Bryce he would already not care. But he won't ever forget that Hollis did this to me. And he won't let me forget. I want to forget. I don't want to be useless."

"You're not. Savannah wouldn't hang around you if you were useless. Hell, neither would I."

"She calls me the useless human, you know."

"She stopped when she realized it wasn't true." I could guarantee it.

"How did you know?"

"Rest," I ordered. I muttered a calming spell and he fell asleep in moments. I quietly slipped out of the room. Bryce took forever to come out of the shower, so I used the time to try and call Savannah. I only got her voicemail. As usual. I don't know why she bothered to own a cellphone if she never actually picked up. But since I didn't have to talk to her, I really didn't have anything much to do but make myself a little more comfortable.

The six-inch heels left my feet red and tender and close to bleeding, but I could still wiggle my toes, so I figured it was okay. I was stretching out my ankles, sitting on his bed, when Bryce came back out of the shower.

He was still wearing his suit pants, but his white shirt was plastered to wet skin and his jacket and tie were over his arm. Bryce seemed surprised to see me there.

"Massage my feet?" I asked, lifting one foot off the mattress.

"Why are you in here, Gillian?"

"Why do you think?"

"This is a bad idea."

"I thought it was a good idea in the library. Why can't it be a good idea here?" I may have pouted just a little bit, for good measure. He didn't appear convinced so I stood up and wandered over until his damp shirt was just brushing against my breasts.

"Because there, in my grandfather's house, we had to be careful. We had to keep things contained because there was always the chance that someone would come looking for us. Here...neither one of us has much self-control. The only way this ends is with me inside you."

He shouldn't have said that. Because suddenly I really didn't care that this was a bad idea. "That's sort of the idea, silly."

"You really want to do this, Gillian? Fine. Just remember to name the kid after my grandfather, won't you?"

"Alba—"

"I trust Alba more than I trust anyone in that company and I wouldn't trust her to look both ways for me before I crossed the street. If there's _any_ chance that you being pregnant means I die, then we're just not having sex. Ever. Got it?"

"Fine. Then can I have a ride home, please?"

"You really want to do that to Grant? It's late, Gillian. There is a couch with your name on it."

I could have kept arguing, I suppose, but he had found my weakness easily enough. I wasn't about to force Grant to drive me across the city just because I didn't want to sleep on a couch.

"Could I at least have something to wear? The dress is the only thing I have with me."

He dropped his jacket and tie in a heap on the floor, pointedly ignoring my disapproving look. Over to the dresser he went, throwing open drawers, flipping through piles of t-shirts. "Sorry I don't have a Pussycat Doll shirt."

"Shut up." I caught the shirt he threw at me anyway. The Eagles. I could live with that. There was just one last favour to ask him. "Could you help me with the zipper? Please?"

"Tease."

"Prude."

But he came over, stopping somewhere behind me. I could feel the heat emanating from him and the wet shirt sometimes brushed against my arm causing me to shiver. Warm hands found the top of my zipper. He unhooked the top and I found myself arching a little.

His fingers brushed against my bare back and my eyes fluttered closed as I stayed perfectly still, as if I could frighten him away. I released a shaky breath and tried to ignore the goosebumps appearing on my skin. Or how soft his fingers felt as they brushed the skin on my back. Or how I could feel his breath on my neck as he spoke.

"Thank you for coming tonight."

"You're welcome," I said as I pulled away. I began tugging the straps of my dress over my shoulders, down my arms.

"What are you doing?"

But he didn't sound angry. I found myself blushing but informed him, "I need to hang the dress up in your closet."

I slipped his shirt over my head. Just like I thought. It ended mid-thigh. I tugged my dress down underneath the shirt and then stepped out of it. Picking it up, I offered it to Bryce, almost as proof, and he wordlessly pointed to the closet.

When I turned around it was to find him sitting on the bed, almost the exactly the same position that he had been the other time I had come into his bedroom uninvited. Only this time he was already topless. Where the hell had his shirt gone? Who cared if it was wet? He needed to keep it on. Maybe I should take a shower.

"I have to do something with the jewellery."

"Throw it on the desk. This house has more security on it than most banks. You want me to buy you a car to match? Let's do that tomorrow. I have a sudden desire to spend money."

"Wow. Passive-aggressive looks terrible on you," I said as took off the jewellery and he flipped through the different stations.

"Shut up. _Dracula 3000_ is on if you want," he offered as he passed over a pillow. I placed it against his thighs and then rested my head on it. Tugging his shirt a little lower, I asked, "How can you watch this crap?"

"Crap? This is a quality cinematic experience."

"I can't believe we're spending our last night together watching this."

"You're not going to write me?" Bryce smirked as I hit him in the arm. "Who knows? Maybe you can come with my sister to Sean's coronation. Give everyone there heart attacks so I don't have to deal with them all."

"I cannot see me ever being that crazy." I forced myself not to fidget, to ignore the easy intimacy that had somehow begun to settle over us. "Hey, Bryce? You know that spell you used at the house and the warehouse? The one that made the buildings shake? You want to teach me how to do it?"

"I'm tired, Gillian. You're tired."

"We can't just sit here. Come on, Bryce," I begged, sitting up, "Don't you want to teach me something new?"

He was smirking as he shook his head.

"You just have to be taking advantage of me somehow, don't you?"

"Well...yeah. Teach me? Please?"

Bryce chuckled. "Sean wouldn't believe this. He thought no one out there would ever be more full of shit than I am."

"Shut up." Sitting up, I glared. "Are you going to do it?"

With a brisk nod, he began to recite slowly, stopping so I could repeat after him. We worked on the spell for a little while, but I was tired and we were not quite done before I fell asleep.

* * *

I couldn't make out much in the darkness. But I could feel his hands on my arms—smooth and cold, I tried to jerk away but found I couldn't. Why the fuck couldn't I see anything? Struggling, I found myself unable to move, tied up like I was some kind of prisoner. Only it was much less cool than it was in the movies.

Why was I always getting kidnapped?

"We're very sorry," he said, hands checking the bindings. "But this is the only way."

"Fuck you."

No one tied me up and got away with it.

The pain hit me then. I didn't know what the hell it was, only that it fucking hurt. I would have tried not to scream, but by the time I thought of it, it was over. He had stopped. For now.

"Please understand this is the way it has to be. You can scream if you want. Whatever makes it more bearable."

"Go to hell."

Fuck. More pain, sparks in the darkness, barely enough to illuminate his arm. Some sort of cattle prod, I guessed, trying to focus on anything but the feel of it. That son of a bitch was using a cattle prod on my stomach. I tried to think about that, to keep calm, but it wasn't working. Tears began to leak out. Bastard. I was going to kill him. No one did this to Savannah Levine—

"Fuck! I think you broke my nose."

I sat upright in bed to find Bryce crouched down beside me, gingerly holding his nose. The lights were on and—was I under a sheet?—Grant was standing by the closed door looking unsure if he should be there or not.

"Sorry," I muttered, sitting up, trying to get my bearings. "Do you want me to take a look?"

"It's fine," he announced. Typical—he would only complain until you cared. "Well, since you're not being attacked, I think we should be alright here, Grant."

"Yes, sir," Grant agreed. But he looked worried.

I glanced over at Bryce and noticed he was wearing sweat pants. When had that happened?

"What the hell was that?" Bryce snapped. "You sounded like a drowning banshee."

He sat down on the bed and I shifted over further, so that we could both sit with our backs against the wall. It was the reverse of our normal positions, since it seemed like I was in the bed. His skin was cool to the touch—the whiff of smoke that I picked up told me what he had been doing, most likely outside.

"I don't usually have nightmares," I said to say something.

Bryce regarded me carefully. "You didn't move at all. You just lay there curled up and screaming. You don't ever move when you sleep."

"Every time you move in your sleep you make noise. When you share a room," I explained, "Making noise is a bad thing. It's just a habit." I got my own room the day my sister ran away—I forgot to celebrate.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Before I could answer, the door started shaking. The pounding on the door scared me and I jumped as I heard Leech yell: "Open up this second, Bryce! Now."

Bryce actually hurried off the bed to open the door. It was open for a split second and then Bryce was on the other side and I could only hear snippets as they shouted..._no fucking S&M in my house...bad dream...bullshit...swear...Savannah..._

It hit me right in the stomach. Because what if it hadn't just been a dream? I didn't waste any more time. Kicking off the sheet, I hurried to the door. Both men shut up when I opened it, which let me say, "Could one of you get my phone? It's in the bag by the door."

Leech nodded and went to get it, while Bryce looked down and muttered, "I'll get you some pants."

I tired dialling Savannah's cell again, but that didn't work. Then I tried my home phone and hers, both in L.A. and Portland. There was no answer anywhere. She could have just been really tired, or maybe she had decided to go someplace else afterwards. Dreaming something didn't make it true.

Leech was standing right outside the door, waiting, panicking. I demanded, "Are you sure she left?"

"No. I brought her to the garage, but then Mariah saw me. She was twenty feet from her car, but I don't—I thought she got in."

"Bryce—"

He handed me pair of shorts. "Get dressed and we'll go check out your house. Give me your phone."

He hit redial as I tried to put on the shorts—thank goodness for drawstrings. I tried not to think about how I had been screaming loudly enough for them to hear me from outside...we were being ridiculous. Savannah was probably at my house, lying in bed and wondering when the damn phone would stop ringing. But just in case she wasn't... well that was what we going to make sure of.


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

* * *

"We're over-reacting. She's going to laugh in our faces."

Did my voice have to sound that unconvincing? I would have to stop bragging about my acting ability because apparently I really sucked at it. I couldn't even convince myself.

"She wouldn't have gone home with someone?" Bryce asked. It didn't sound like much of a question.

"No. She's picky. Unless Adam showed up and offered to elope with her, she would have gone back to my place." It was the base and her house looked like an earthquake had hit. It was four o'clock in the morning. She had to be home. "She's probably just not answering the phone."

"Probably," he agreed as he went faster. "Adam's the guy from the time tear, right? The one she ends up sleeping with?"

"Yeah. About time, too. She's been in love with him since she was twelve."

"Who is he?"

"Adam? Adam Vasic. Exustio. He works for Lucas and as a delegate for the interracial council."

"Is he gay?" Bryce asked with his customary tact. "Or just stupid?"

"He's not the brightest, but I'm pretty sure he likes women. I caught him checking out Paige once—that's part of the problem. He grew up with Paige, which means he thinks he's old enough to be Savannah's father, even if, well, he's not. Not everyone is a comfortable with cradle-robbing as you are."

"Hey, you said you were twenty-one."

Ignoring Bryce, I added: "And I just don't think he likes her."

It sucked for Savannah since she actually believed they were soul mates, but it seemed like it was the real reason they weren't involved yet. I wondered how much of what we saw in the time tear was because he felt sorry for her. What an awful thing to think.

"Did I say something helpful when I was screaming in my sleep?"

"Mostly variations of 'get off me' and 'stop it'," he said, fiddling with the radio.

"Could you not do that while we turn?" I practically screeched. He pulled his hand away like it was going to catch fire. I didn't need his reproachful look to realize that I was over-reacting. "I'm sorry. That was—I'm sorry."

"Did you hear anything else, Grant?" Bryce asked. The bodyguard was in the back seat, since no one from the Cabal would see us and object.

"I think I heard something about powers," Grant contributed.

"Something about in a fair fight, my power would obliterate you, you..." Bryce trailed off. "It was pretty creative. The stuff that comes out of your mouth is usually fascinating, Gillian, but—"

"I don't have a knack for swearing." I had to drop the cigarette out the window—I hadn't realized it was about to burn me. "We're over-reacting."

"You said that already."

* * *

The convertible pulled into my driveway and I was out the door before Bryce had fully stopped. One unlock spell took care of the door—I really should get better security—and then I was inside. "Savannah!"

No one answered. A quick sensing spell told me there was no one in the house. I swore as Bryce came through the door and then headed upstairs. My sensing spell wasn't always reliable. I threw open my bedroom door and there she was, sprawled out on top of the covers. And then the image faded and there was just a big empty unmade bed. I really was going crazy.

"Savannah!"

I tore through the room and then the rest of the house, Bryce and Grant were following along behind me but not being of any use at all.

"You could help."

"She's not here, Gillian," Bryce said. "Do you know any tracking spells?"

I wish. Movie witches could always do that sort of thing. Give them a map, a pushpin and a piece of hair and they could narrow it down to ten feet. The sensing spell was the closest I knew to that and it was limited to about twenty feet around the caster. And I knew sorcerers didn't have that kind of power either.

"There's Paige," I suggested. "If the Cortezes saw Savannah, they would have dragged her out of there. Maybe she stayed with them. I could try calling."

"At four in the morning? You want them panicking?"

There was no sense in me being the only one freaking out. "What do you propose?"

His blonde hair was sticking up everywhere and I spared one whole second to notice that underneath his calm exterior, he looked worried. "Go to sleep. If it happens again...I'll get people to start looking for her. Maybe it was just a nightmare."

"Maybe. Or maybe she's being tortured right now and we're doing nothing. Either or. It's not like we know the two of us are magically connected or something. Oh wait!"

"I get it, Gillian. But we don't know for sure that it's anything more than a dream."

"I don't fucking care. We have to do something. Something's happening to her, something bad. I can't just—"

"Fine. I will call my Grandfather's security and see if they know what happened. These men are the best in the business. They'll know if there is anything to know. And if they don't, there's always Pierre. He's the clairvoyant. You are going to calm down and neither of us is tearing around this city looking for someone who may not be missing. Especially since someone tried to kill you a few days ago. Understand?"

I took a shaky breath. And then another. When I finally had my voice under control, I tried to explain. I wasn't a basket case, not really. It was just... "Savannah is always around. Even when she gets herself thrown into another dimension she's still _there_. I can't have anything happen to her. She's my own personal superhero."

"Nothing's going to happen to her. You're over-reacting. Grandpa probably caught her trespassing, freaked out and is currently screaming at her. Once I talk him out of killing her, she'll be fine."

"You suck at being reassuring, you know." But at least he had tried. "You're going to call security?"

"I'm going to call security," he promised. "And Sean. There's nothing else to do until morning."

"So call," I said, sitting down on the lumpy couch that served as our entire living room furniture. Grant was already sitting, waiting for us to decide what to do and he shifted over so I would have space to wait.

"Fine." Bryce was using my cell, but I could afford a few extra minutes if it meant Savannah was safe. Bryce leaned up against the wall. "Fitz? Bryce here. I—"

Grant raised an eyebrow as we both wondered who would dare cut of a Nast. The conversation that ensued didn't help us much.

"My phone's right—" Bryce closed his eyes in frustration. His phone was currently on the floor of Leech's house. "I turned it off for the night. There's nothing that could be that important—Repeat that—That's impossible—I understand but it's not—All right. Has my grandfather been—Good. I'll be right over. Has someone called in Hollis?—And a spare. Try Kendrick. Tell my grandfather I'll be there in five minutes."

He didn't even let me protest once he hung up. "The clairvoyant's been murdered. I have to go."

"You can't murder a clairvoyant."

I guess you could if you had enough supernatural know-how to circumvent their powers, but I had never really given it much thought. But it should have been utterly impossible for a clairvoyant in Thomas Nast's house to die from unnatural causes.

"That's why I have to go. I'll call Sean on the way over. He'll start the search for Savannah. You can stay here with Grant and—"

"Excuse me, sir, but I have to stay with you," Grant insisted quietly. Bryce swore, but quickly moved on.

"Then you'll come with me. You can go with Sean at the scene. He'll want to go when he hears about Savannah and I'll be more useful—we can do that. And you have to change."

My hair was a royal mess but I couldn't have cared less if I tried. We were out of the house in under a minute.

* * *

I waited in the car, nervously watching the swarms of supernaturals. There were teams and teams of people combing over the acres of Thomas's house. Shamans and half-demons with any sort of tracking powers were hard at work. I knew the necromancers would probably be trying to summon the spirit of the murdered clairvoyant. The sorcerers would be standing around arguing about the politics.

The idea that someone had been able to surprise a clairvoyant enough to kill them was so preposterous that I almost laughed every time I thought about. They were prized above most other employees—hell, the Nasts had even kept a brain dead clairvoyant on life support for nine months just so they wouldn't lose her child, or so the rumor went. Clairvoyants were so valuable Nasts would condescend to spend money on people other than sorcerers. The security around a clairvoyant would be enormous.

But the air of panic convinced me that this was real. Which was nice and all, but Savannah was out there somewhere, in pain, and she was my number one priority.

Fortunately, Bryce had spotted his brother easily. That was one good thing about the Nasts being so very tall. After making me swear to stay put—what did he think I was going to do? Go say hi to his grandfather?—Bryce left and I was stuck watching the scene from the other side of very thick glass.

The two brothers had some sort of argument at the edge of the crowd. While I was watching, I heard a voice.

"I'm sorry?"

"Would you like some coffee, miss? It's fairly fresh," Grant repeated.

I took the coffee, because it looked like I was going to need to be up for a long while. It was disgusting—I actually didn't like the stuff very much. But at least it was hot. I needed to be alert. Not that I didn't trust the Nasts but...I didn't trust the Nasts. Especially when it came to Savannah.

"I started guarding Mr Nast when he was seven," Grant said from the front. "Even then he was old enough to know he didn't want a body guard. He tried to crawl through an air vent to hide from me. He ended up stuck and I was almost decapitated for my negligence."

"Charming," I laughed, eyes fighting to stay awake.

"It didn't get any easier over the years. When he was fifteen he hired a body double and was in another state before I caught up to him."

I yawned, watching as Sean and Bryce continued to fight. "Enough to make you want to quit."

"Always. But I managed to pick up a few tricks in the meantime."

I glanced down at the coffee in my hand and then back at Grant who was watching me in the rearview mirror. The corner of his mouth twitched in confirmation.

"Grant, you didn't," I begged.

"You won't be very helpful if you're too tired. The Nasts will handle this, you have my word. Go to sleep."

"I loathe you," I said handing the thermos back to him. "If anything happens to her...Did Bryce put you up to this?"

"I haven't listened to that boy since I started working for him. I'm not going to start now."

"Like you would tell me even if he had."

"That's true. He probably would, though. You can ask him when you wake up."

My eyelids felt ridiculously heavy and I knew there wasn't any point in fighting to keep them open. Grant was the best, after all. I leaned my head back and tried to focus on the Nast brothers. I thought I saw Sean walking towards the car, but I couldn't be sure. I hoped we weren't too late to help Savannah...

Somewhere very far away, I heard Grant talking.

"Goodnight, Miss MacArthur."

* * *

I woke up screaming. Again. This time, I got Sean in the nose. That was some nice symmetry. Sean actually let me look at it, though, as he asked me what I had been dreaming about.

I shivered but told him: "It was Savannah's thoughts or whatever, again. They had stopped and were asking her all sorts of questions. Weird things, like what she had eaten for breakfast last Thursday and all the people I had talked with to find her. They just kept asking and asking and she couldn't remember very well so they...have you started looking for her yet?"

"I already have people looking," Sean promised. "One of Martin's cars was still in the garage. Most of our men are scouring the city, anyway, because of Pierre, so now I have them looking for another set of clues. Unfortunately, I can't exactly tell most of them what they're looking for. If Grandpa finds out we're looking for Savannah he'll call off the forces. So while it's something, it's not the best we could do."

"What else are you doing?

"I'm also trying to get the security footage of the house, see why she never made it to her car. But that's taking time. It disappeared so we're looking for the back ups."

Not good, not good. I fidgeted. It wasn't fair to demand results when I had done nothing but sleep. But he hadn't had Savannah screaming in his head. They had to do more.

"Do they know what happened to the clairvoyant?"

"Bryce would know more than me at this point. We're meeting up with him now. We've called up the Cortezes, but we—I—thought we should tell them in person. The meeting starts in fifteen minutes. We should have plenty of time to get to headquarters by then."

Headquarters? Nast Headquarters. I was going to be sick. Instead, I silently promised Savannah: _I'm so going to kill you dead when I find you—Nast Headquarters was just not cool._

* * *

The Nast office building was not subtle. At least they were consistent. Always overcompensating for something. It was this monstrosity in middle of the downtown core, a fist through the concrete street, daring damnation to be visited upon it. I guess that was the whole point. When Grant pulled up, it was easy to spot Bryce standing in front of it, Paulson and two other bodyguards (Sean's, probably) by his side. He was talking on the phone—his phone, Paulson must have brought it—glaring up at the building.

When Paulson pointed us out, he hurried over, anxious to talk to his brother. Together, the seven of us headed around to the back. Sean informed Bryce about his plans for finding Savannah, and about my dream, and then asked for an update to the clairvoyant situation.

Bryce could only sigh. "Grandpa's called an emergency board meeting. And the Cabals have opened up a joint investigation. Grandpa's also threatening to kill any of the idiots who suggested he celebrate his birthday, so I would stay out of his way if I were you."

"I didn't think—who would have thought this was possible?"

"Fucking nightmare. The other Cabals were of course insulted that we brought in a clairvoyant in the first place. Billy Boyd took it as a personal insult—probably afraid we were going to spill about his foot fetish. I almost did, just to fucking shut him up. Don't worry, Sean, I didn't. I spent two fucking hours talking him down. This is going to be a diplomatic disaster."

"It was probably an inside though, wasn't it?"

Bryce nodded as his brother sighed.

"No other way to get past security. That we've thought of so far, anyway." Bryce shut up as we came up to a back door where enormous guards stood on either side. They let us pass when they saw the brothers. A swiped of some sort of card, a scan of Sean's hand and then we were inside.

"I hate this place," Bryce muttered as we walked down the hall.

"You don't say?" When he turned to glare, I asked: "How come you get to have childhood traumas and I have to pull myself together all the time?"

"Childhood trauma my ass," Bryce said under his breath. "Some people have nice, stable childhoods, Gillian. Filled with expensive toys and people who love them."

"And yet some people still grow up to be jerks," I muttered.

"I heard that."

"And knew it was true," I pointed out. We climbed into the elevator. "Do you think Paige will already be here?"

The elevator required some sort of pass code before it would move, but Sean put it in without prompting. I glanced at my reflection and tried not to look for too long. Even the ponytail didn't hide the mess that was my hair.

"We didn't tell them what it was about. I can't see any reason why they would be eager to talk to us." Bryce's eyes shifted to me and then away as he shook his head. Smart. There was no way the Cortezes cared enough about my social life. They might be curious, but they wouldn't push. But they would be on time. Politeness demanded that much.

Sean led us down the hall and then motioned for the bodyguards to stay in front of large black door. It was massive, with only a shiny silver handle. Overcompensating. Someone had watched too many movies about evil overlords.

The room inside was small, and completely grey. There were no windows, no decorations, only a small table with four chairs, all plain black plastic. There was nothing else, no plants, no pictures, no shelves. Nothing.

The brothers sat down but I began to pace, just to have something to do. I couldn't smoke if I was going to come face to face with Paige. She could tell. She could also find Savannah. No matter what, Savannah came when Paige called. Paige could find anybody. She was the one responsible for finding my sister's killer—too late, yes, but she had been the one. Not the Cabals, even with all their resources. Now that she had access to the Cortez fortune, there wouldn't be anything stopping her.

At least, I hoped not.

Bryce jerked right out of the chair as the door opened and I finally stopped pacing. Paige and Lucas entered. They were surprised to see me there, but Lucas hid it well.

Paige and Lucas didn't looked completely worried, which is when I figured that Sean hadn't told them _anything_. Sean gestured for them to sit down. I stayed standing because I was clearly the least important person in the room. Leaning against the wall, I waited for the Nast brothers to start their damn meeting already. We were wasting time.

"We think Savannah's been kidnapped."

Way to be subtle, Bryce. Paige half-rose out of her chair and Lucas gave a long blink. "Excuse me?"

He let Sean explain. How I had nightmares, how we went looking for her, how she had last been seen on Nast property—

"We're missing something here," Paige interrupted. "Why would Gillian's dreams be related to Savannah? Why is Savannah going to Thomas's birthday? Since when do you even talk to your sister?"

This was directed at Bryce, who gave a lazy shrug. "Since Wednesday. Technically speaking of course. I've tolerated her existence since Sunday."

"Monday," I corrected. "You didn't know you were helping her until Monday."

Bryce waved his hand, not caring to be that precise. "The point is that I feel as if we've bonded during that time and now I feel a strange urge to help since she's gone missing." His voice took on a much harder note. "Maybe that's the part you should be concentrating on."

"This is—" Paige broke off, staring at Sean. "You're serious?"

He looked at his brother and then nodded at the Cortezes. "We've already started looking for her. Our investigation's going to be hindered—"

"We can't tell Grandpa what we're looking for or he'll call off the search," Bryce interrupted.

Sean continued, "So we could use your help."

"Perhaps if we were informed as to how the present circumstances arose?" Lucas said finally.

"I'm afraid that's classified information. We can't tell you."

I glanced at them, surprised they would be saying something like this since I thought the whole point of the meeting was to tell the Cortezes everything. It was then that Sean's emphasis on the word 'we' made its way through my thick skull. They shouldn't say anything—not about matter which included compromised security and an anomaly on their property. But they had no jurisdiction over me. In fact, because of my father, the Cortezes could probably order me to tell them.

And when the world went crazy, you stuck to the protocols.

Everyone was looking at me expectantly; it would have been nice of someone to explain I would have to do this. Paige and Lucas were shocked and I hated knowing what I was going to say was only going to wreck them further. But if it could help Savannah...I started talking.

I started with the murder at the club, how I waited until there were a whole handful of bodies on the floor before I did anything, how I almost didn't bother to find Savannah the first time. Then there was Kristof helping and breaking necromantic law and promising to attend Thomas's birthday on a sorcerer's whim. There was knights looking for a witch and a house that the Cortezs really shouldn't have known about. Bryce tried to interrupt but I told them all how he had been shot. I left out Nadira, making the injury sound a little less serious, simply because of how far Bryce had previously gone to keep their relationship a secret, but I told them everything else. No matter how small. Hell, I told them how I jumped Bryce.

Anything and everything that had happened, I told them. Especially what happened in the portal. Even though it killed me a little bit, I went over every second. Every single second. And when I went over Kristof's death, Paige knew what I had done. I didn't let that slow me down. I just kept going—through the future, a future that was ugly and should have been private. I told them about the baby and about Adam and about dying on a bathroom floor. When I got to the part where we were driving back from the portal Bryce interrupted.

"That's enough, Gillian."

"I'm not done."

"You can skip the boring details. Just get right to where you broke into Yi's house and everything wasn't peaceful." There was a reprimand in there, somewhere, but I ignored it.

There was no point in not talking about it. "So then I called—"

"Gillian." His blue eyes were blazing. "Shut up."

That was when I realized maybe he didn't want his older brother to know he had beaten the shit out of his younger sister. Right. I could cover for him, even if I couldn't for myself.

"Well, you already know I called you. So the next day..." I started up again. Bryce rolled his eyes when I told what had happened at Yi's house and I made a mental note to beg him not to fire Paulson. I finished with a quick account of the party and then waking up and punching Bryce in the nose.

Paige and Lucas sat there in stunned silence. Sean turned to his brother. "You better tell me next time you get shot."

"I still don't understand why you would be having these dreams," Paige said.

I had been wondering that myself and I thought I had my answer. Briefly, I went over the ceremony we had performed when we were sixteen. "I think the recent problems strengthened the bond. If she's with a spellcaster, they have to be blocking all forms of communication. She might be subconsciously using the bond we created to communicate. Magic in its most innate form."

"Where did you find a spell like that?" Paige asked, half-curious and half...scared? Furious, most likely.

"Savannah knew this witch...Molly something. She..." stole it "...borrowed it and I changed it and it worked. Somehow."

Before Paige could ask exactly how it had worked, Sean interrupted into a list of everything the Nasts were doing to find Savannah. It was lucky for me, because I had no clue what that spell had done to us. It hadn't been dark magic, just unsafe magic...but I didn't expect the Cortezes to see it that way, which is why the longer Sean went on about the help he needed, the better it was for me.

They talked for a long time, about a lot of things I didn't understand. They were organizing and planning and that wasn't my strong suit. I was the girl that got rescued, the girl who was in over her head—I was useless right now.

It was only as the meeting was winding down, as the Cortezes were getting anxious to leave, to start looking themselves that Lucas pointed out: "The connection between Gillian and Savannah, while unprecedented, is worth investigating further. It may allow us to contact Savannah properly."

"It's witch magic," Bryce said. "We can't help with that."

He could at least pretend he didn't want to get rid of me as fast as he could.

Lucas turned to Paige and that's when I knew that I had finally done it. I wasn't the broken doll they could glue back together; I was the Cabal girl they couldn't change. With hardly a glance in my direction Paige said, "I can research the magical aspect. As long as we know what Gillian's dreaming she should be free to go home."

Except I couldn't because I had ruined that to. Spring Break was going to be over soon—everyone would be coming back. Back from their holidays, back from Tia's funeral, and they would want to know where the hell I had been. Besides, even if I could leave, I didn't want to wait around while Savannah was missing. "I should help with the research. I'm the one that came up with the spell—"

"That you didn't know how to control," Paige pointed out tightly. "You didn't know how any of it would turn out."

"I can—"

"Research from home. You have school this week anyway." However badly I had betrayed her trust, Paige Cortez was a good person. She managed not to sound furious that I had screwed around with forces I couldn't control, just worried. She probably _was_ more worried than angry—white hats. "I'm sure you have work to catch up on and we can handle it from here."

And that was it.

Except it wasn't. They hadn't been inside that time tear. While they still trusted me enough to take what I said at face value, they hadn't felt what I had. The guilt Savannah felt over getting Lucas killed wasn't some abstract feeling, some second hand account, for me. Maybe they could handle it, but I couldn't let risk letting them handle it alone.

But I kept my mouth shut for now. It's a lot easier to have people do you favors if you haven't just pissed them off.

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, since Paige and Lucas were eager to be off. Off to save the day as usual. I only spoke when the door shut behind them.

"So, what are we doing now?"

The two Nast brothers looked at each other and then at me and back at each other. Staring contests were annoying when you weren't part of them. When you were the prize waiting to be won (lost—I shouldn't flatter myself, they were both trying to get rid of me) they were hopelessly juvenile. To my surprise, Bryce broke first, glancing back at me.

Then Sean spoke: "I have time to take you home now, Gillian, if you'd like."

I glanced between them, but Bryce was looking down at the table. Now he decided to be quiet? Screw him. "I want to help. And you're going to let me."

"Nice try, kid," Bryce said with a shrug as he stood up. He turned to leave.

I grabbed him by the arm, not caring how hard my fingers were digging in. All too clearly I could remember Savannah from the future—leaving Adam because I needed someone to take care of me. I had to help out; it was only fair. So for the first time in his life, I was going to make Bryce Nast listen to someone else. "You're letting me help."

"Or what?"

If that's how he wanted to play this, I could oblige. "Or I'll go to your grandfather."

"And tell him what?"

"Whatever the hell I feel like. I'm a great liar, Bryce, you know that. And maybe I'll throw in a little truth in there too. I don't know—I guess you'll just have to wait and see what comes out of my mouth."

"You wouldn't fucking dare."

"You're talking about the only person on the planet who gives a damn about me. You really think I wouldn't?"

Five seconds. For five seconds he held me gaze, calling my bluff. Saying I was too weak, too pathetic, too scared to do anything to him. Five seconds said I couldn't hurt him, no matter how hard I tried. Five seconds and he caved.

"Fuck, Gillian, what do you expect to do? Seriously? You heard the witch—whatever you can do, do from home."

"If there was something I could have done from home, I'd have done it already. You can stick me in a room filled with texts no one's read in a century. I don't care. Just don't make me leave her. Please, Bryce."

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but Sean wasn't my concern. The man seemed nice enough, but he would want to keep me safe. He didn't get that big rewards required big risks. Bryce would let me. Even if it was only dumb busy work that didn't actually help. Because he got that you needed to pretend to have control over everything when you couldn't control anything at all.

Sean stepped between us, voice was full of concern, even as he was clearly trying to get rid of me: "Gillian, you must be exhausted. You should let me..." He ran on like that for a long moment. I ignored him, watching his brother.

Finally, Bryce snapped. "Do you know why Leech did what he did?"

I pulled out a package of cigarettes, because I wanted to celebrate my victory. "Not really. When future-Savannah saw him...she talked about you. I think that's why I thought you were alive, afterwards. But I can see you coming back to talk to him, after you died. Who cares about necromantic law, right? Anyway, Savannah said you were right about something, though I don't know what she was talking about. And she said she took it back, calling him a useless human. But who knows? Maybe he just missed you that much."

I lit up one for Bryce and then offered one to Sean. He refused. Better for me. Bryce was still angry. "And my grandfather?"

"No idea. It wasn't the most pleasant experience. I didn't get facts, just feelings. And Savannah wasn't very sorry he was dead."

"You should have told me this before."

"I told you some of it. I—I am trying to tell you things. It's just...I'm not very good at that."

"I noticed." He took a long drag and changed the subject. "You're dad was a half-demon."

"Yeah," I answered without thinking. "Why?"

He walked to the door, calling to Sean, "I'm going to take her to see Kane."

"Bryce—"

"He's the best."

"He's insane."

"And the best," Bryce repeated, rolling his eyes.

Sean still didn't like it. "I don't see how he could help."

"I don't know shit about clairvoyants, Sean. Or about time tears, or about witch spells that the witches themselves screwed up. But there's a demon out there mixed up in all of this, and that I can deal with. I can go to Kane. I can talk to him. I can get answers. So that's what I'm going to do."

Sean did not look convinced, but he seemed to realize he wasn't going to win the fight and so his time would be better spent if he just ignored his brother. "Just be careful, all right? The fact you survived last time was a fluke."

"Your support is appreciated," Bryce muttered. "Besides, if Leech is feeling like a lousy human, it's Kane's fault. I just want to have a talk with him about it."

And seeing as how Sean's face went white—Kane was evidentially not someone you had a 'talk' with—Bryce hurried me out of the room.


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

* * *

Bryce ordered Grant back to my place to supervise the shamans who were there, making sure no one had been abducted from that location. Wherever we were going, he was ashamed of telling Grant—clue #306 that this was not going to be a fun trip. Bryce then had Paulson drive him back to Leech's so he could change. That may sound unnecessarily vain, but there was a practical reason. He informed me we were going hiking. Considering he returned to the car with sunscreen and enough water bottles to keep Flipper alive for a week, I was inclined to believe him.

Bryce had brought enough CDs with us to last until we reached the other side of the country, but he promised we weren't going that far. He was sprawled out in the back seat, complaining about needing rest. The few instructions he gave Paulson amounted to drive into the desert for a long while and then wake him up.

We drove mostly in silence. Bryce was sleeping, Paulson was driving and I drifted in and out of consciousness, working through different translations of spells. There had to be something about this bond I had created with Savannah, something I could use instead of it just screwing with me. The CD finished and I blindly put in the next one. Going from heavy metal to techno was a jarring transition, but I wasn't about to wake Bryce up to ask what he would prefer. He needed his rest.

Eventually, Bryce sat up and ordered Paulson to pull over. Around us there was only the orange glow of the California desert. Bryce hopped out of the car and looked at me expectantly. I thought we were going to see someone. A rather morbid thought struck me.

"You're not going to kill me in the desert are you?"

"Gillian, if I decide to kill you, I wouldn't have to bother to hide it. Now can we please get a move on?" He began talking to Paulson and though the bodyguard didn't like what he was hearing, eventually he nodded.

I got to watch as he drove away, kicking up dust everywhere. That's why Bryce had left Grant behind—he never would have left the client behind. Meanwhile, Bryce was trying to leave me behind, already twenty feet away. I hurried to catch up.

Even the word desert hints at what it's like. Boring. It's just miles and miles of the same stuff over and over again. Cacti. Driftwood. Dust. Over and over. I don't know how Bryce knew where he was going, but he always seemed to be walking towards something. If he was taking a mid-morning hike, I was going to kill him.

"Explain to me again why this guy lives in the middle of the desert?" I asked when the utter sameness of the terrain began to get to me. I hastily wiped the sweat off my forehead. We should have gone earlier. The sun was rising higher—another few hours and there would be two more crispy corpses for the buzzards to eat.

"He doesn't. This is just the fastest way to get there."

"Fast? What is he, paranoid?"

Bryce snorted. "He could probably take anybody. But if you don't want to talk to people, go where they won't go."

"So he hates people—joy."

"Fortunately, he owes me a favor. Well, he owes my father a favor and since he can't collect... I figure Dad won't mind. And he is the best."

"At what?"

"You're going to freak."

"That's what I do, Bryce. That doesn't mean you shouldn't tell me."

He chuckled and helped me stay balanced as we climbed down a steep gorge. Just more barren rock. "Fine. He knows demons. If we're lucky, he might even let us talk to one."

"We're walking all this was to ask about demons? I could have just called the Vasics again."

He sighed like I was some kind of idiot, which was nothing new for him. "If anyone can put us in touch with someone who knows something about that demon that killed Yi and how to stop it, it'll be Kane. And not just what the demon's name is, but his birthday, his favorite color, and—most importantly—where the hell we can find him. Because I'm hoping that whoever sent the demon is the same person who kidnapped Savannah. Two people after the two of you at the same time just seems unlikely."

"She does have a talent for pissing off powerful supernaturals," I pointed out.

We started climbing up the other side of the gorge, which proved even more difficult. Tiny rocks slipped out from under my feet, throwing me off balance. I was a city girl and this nature stuff wasn't fun. Plus, I had to keep up with Bryce. I was already slowing him down considerably, but it wasn't really my fault. His stride was almost double mine and he was walking as fast as he could. The occasional snort of aggravation was the only sign that he was getting increasingly frustrated as I struggled along behind.

The land leveled off eventually, only to reveal more nothing. "Great. Fan-fucking-tastic," I couldn't help muttering.

"We're almost there," he promised. "Sort of."

Almost there meant another hour of walking. The sun was beating down by the time Bryce turned to me to announce we had made it. At that point ,I really didn't care. I was pretty sure my sunscreen had melted off completely.

"There's nothing here!"

Indeed, nothing was the best word. The land was flat. The skyline was obscured by the heat and the swirling dust. The only object that I could see was the cactus Bryce was carefully examining.

"Put your hands on it. I'm sorry if it hurts, but this is the way it has to be."

Flinching a little, I lowered my hands to the plant after Bryce. It wasn't those spindly cactuses you see in cartoons. The points were small, even if they were sharp. Bryce began to chant. And the next thing I knew I was in the middle of the forest. And not just any forest. I sort of suspected I was in the Amazon. Which...no. Just no.

The air was hot, but a hundred times more moist than before, and I broke out into goosebumps at the sudden change, my body going into shock. The trees were tall—huge—the kind of trees that you knew were ancient. It was an old forest, undisturbed, the rustling of the wind, the gurgling of water flowing, and the calls of animals the only sounds. No man-made noises.

"Where are we?" I asked in wonder.

"I don't know. It's safer that way. Come on, it's not much farther."

I shivered, but not from cold. It was quiet in the middle of the forest. I didn't like it one bit. Quiet was nice—I had once lived for quiet. But this was different. This was natural, normal. It didn't make me feel safe. It made me feel like maybe there was a higher power and if that was true, Mom had been right. I must have really pissed it off.

Bryce noticed my shivering and grimaced, mistaking its origin. "The temperature change the next time is going to be even worse. Sorry, I didn't warn you. I haven't been through here in almost a decade."

"I'll be fine," I lied as we slipped through the trees. Eventually the trees cleared and I found myself at the foot of a stream as it raged and rushed through the ground. Bryce began wading into the water, like that was what normal people did. Sweat still covered my body but I wasn't going to clean off until there was heated water. No sir. I dipped my hand in and shivered. He was mental.

He turned around and glared. "You have to get into the water, Gillian. For the next portal."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I'm doing this for fun," he snapped. "Hurry up, it's not exactly clean."

"I just have to get in?"

"And swim a hundred yards upstream. That's it."

"I can't swim."

He cursed as he stood in the river, up to his shoulders in water. But he wasn't getting out. If this was the only way....

I started wading in after him. "Can you drag me along somehow, if it's not that far?"

Bryce met picked me up before the water rose above my head. "You're insane." But he didn't bring me out. "Get on my back and hold on. Hold your breath when you see me going under."

I wrapped my arms carefully around his neck, and made sure my legs were tight around his waist. They say drowning was one of the most painful ways to die, but I wasn't thinking about that.

It was the most terrifying thing I had ever done and I can admit I'm not the most careful person with my life. But being surrounded by all that water and knowing I couldn't defend myself against it was horrible. I had taken a few swimming classes when I was little, but then money had gotten tight and I decided I would much rather keep doing gymnastics than get in all that water again. Served me right.

But worse than the fear was the water. Freezing cold, it bit into my skin, cut through clothes and scarred bone. I wanted to die, just so it would stop. But I had lived through worse and this time, at least, there was a purpose.

"It should be here," Bryce sputtered, half-sunk in the water. I knew this couldn't be easy for him either. I probably should have agreed to stay behind. "It should be—"

And then we were underwater.

The river slapped me across the face and my eyes shut instinctively. Too late. The water burned my eyes and stung my nose. I tried to hang on but something wretched at my hair and I reached around to stop it. Suddenly Bryce wasn't beside me anymore. I was submerged, water everywhere. And it was so cold.

I screamed. The water rushed into my mouth, my throat convulsing as it tried to repel the assault. I struggled to reach air. But whatever was holding me, it was much stronger. And it was pulling me upwards.

I emerged from the water, skull pounding fit to burst, lungs ready to explode and coughing for air. I was on a rock, beside a small pool, trying to breath. The last of the water was finally coughed up, so I looked up.

A pair of black eyes looked down on me. Sorcerer eyes.

"My mistake," a sophisticated sounding voice said.

Hands went to push me back in, but I had managed to get enough breath back for a limited spell. As I kicked and struggled against the hands trying to throw me back into the water, I cast. It was just a small spell but I aimed it properly and it set the sorcerer's pant leg on fire.

He cursed and hurriedly let go of me, hitting his pants to calm the flames. When that didn't work, he stuck his leg into the lake. I hurried away from the edge, putting an enormous rock between us and watched him warily.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "And where's Bryce?"

The sorcerer was standing in a small pool, one that didn't even come up to his knee. The surrounding area was much more barren than before, with only the occasional tree. Different types of trees too. These were winter trees, not the big leafy kind from before. There was even ice around here. The sorcerer was still glaring at me.

"Your companion?"

"Yeah, Bryce. He's a Nast. He said he knows you." I corrected myself. "Sort of."

The look in the sorcerer's eye alerted me to the fact that if Bryce was to be believed—and that look said he was—this was a man who hadn't seen a woman in a very long time. But all he did was turn back and reach into the pool. He closed his eyes and began to cast. I readied a spell in return, just in case. The water rippled, slowly at first and then faster, around his arm. He pulled.

He was holding an arm. It didn't take long for the rest of Bryce to emerge from the small pool. On the same rocks I had just lain on, he sputtered. Carefully making sure he was between me and the other sorcerer, I crept over to make sure he was all right.

When my hand landed on his shoulder, he glanced up and finally saw me. Then arms wrapped around me and I found myself enveloped in a hug for the first time in a long time. He was dripping wet, but underneath I felt a reassuring warmth. Before I could even let myself relax, he had pulled away, choking having turned to chuckling: "No more swimming, okay?"

"I think you're friend wants to throw me back into the pool," I said pointedly.

Bryce turned around and looked at the sorcerer. Standing up, he managed to push me behind him, though his voice was pleasant. "Kane. Interesting security you got here."

"Not enough to keep out the trash."

There was no doubt the new guy was not talking about a Nast. What with the trying to drown me and the glaring, he was beginning to piss me off. "Bryce isn't that bad, once you get to know him."

"Listen, man, the witch has to stay. She's just your type."

I shivered, but didn't think Bryce had brought me all the way up here just to screw the other sorcerer. And if he had, I was going to kill him. Kane stared at the two of us, dark eyes impassive. He would have been an impressive sight, if he hadn't been half drenched. Still, with his black eyes and long dark hair, not to mention the formidable scowl, he did make me want to shiver—more. The air was freezing up here.

"Why are you here?"

"You'll be glad you asked that. You wanna go someplace more private?"

"I am alone here."

"Whatever you want. You can stay standing in that pool, but I'm cold."

Kane did not look amused, though Bryce wasn't trying to be funny. I sighed because this was going to be a long day.

"Explain yourself."

"Alone for years and you still don't want to talk to anyone? I've heard of antisocial but you are a piece of work." I placed a hand on his back, willing him to shut up. Bryce got the message. "I need to talk to some of your friends. Urgently. Dad always said you were the best."

"Is that what he said?"

Bryce was smirking. I could feel it. "No. But I was a smart kid—I could read between the lines. You going to help, or not?"

Whatever Kane was thinking I was grateful not to know. Blood and gore and unspeakable things, probably. Did we really need him? If he was the best...and any lead was better than nothing. Anything to help Savannah. If I had to talk to arrogant sorcerers to do it—well, I had survived Bryce for a week. I could survive Kane.

Finally, Kane spun on his heel, stomping out of the pool. "Come," he ordered. We quickly followed, staying close together for warmth. As we traipsed through the forest, Kane muttered some sort of spell and his clothes were dry.

"I don't suppose you want to ask him how he did that?" I muttered to Bryce.

"You ask him."

"He scares me."

"He should. He may not like witches, but if you're alive it means he decided not to kill you. He's the most powerful sorcerer I know."

"It's a rule, Bryce. You avoid Cain. Everyone knows that."

"It's not his real name. It's a nickname—that I gave him, as a matter of fact. Might be why he likes me so much. And I thought you weren't religious."

"I'm not. But if he stabs us in the back, I might have to start."

There was small cave within the rocks and Kane slipped inside. More dark and dank places—at this point it wasn't a surprise. Bryce glanced around and followed Kane inside. It was the thing to do. The cold feeling still lingered, maybe because my clothes were sopping wet. A sigh and I quickly followed after.

The cave was darker than I had expected. It was really more of a crevice. As I slipped between the rock, I couldn't hear either sorcerer up ahead. Was it really that part of the movie where the dumb blonde walks straight up to the monster and ends up eaten? I hated horror movies. The blonde always got killed, though at least her clothes usually managed to artfully fall off beforehand. If only I was still a virgin.

I sensed the wall in front of me seconds before I crashed into it. The tiny dot of light was good for something. Hesitantly, I reached out. It wasn't cool like the rock, or rough. It was almost completely smooth and straight. It was...a door? The circular object under my hand sure did feel like a doorknob. I turned it and pushed.

A small wood cabin stood in front of me. Bryce and Kane were sitting in plush chairs by a fire, Bryce now completely dry. There were windows on either side of the fireplace, revealing a breathtaking scene. A look out the window confirmed it—we were on top of the mountain. Beyond the chairs there was a desk covered in an assortment of herbs, daggers and ancient books. One of the knives still had dried blood on it.

"Took you long enough," Bryce teased. "Take a seat."

"The witch will get my furniture wet."

Shutting the door behind me, I eagerly walked over to the fire. "Was it a portal?"

"Just another precaution. Kane doesn't like strangers. Or strangers don't like Kane." Bryce sighed. "She's going to catch pneumonia."

"You want me to waste magic on a witch?"

Bryce glared as only Bryce could. Kane sighed and cast a short spell. I listened carefully to the old Greek words. My translation was pretty rough, but I might be able to recreate it afterwards. It was good enough for a rough stab, at least.

"Your request?" Kane leaned back in his chair. There were only two by the fire, so I was forced to stand but I kept myself busy staring at the flames as Bryce went through the situation quickly enough. There was no mention that the woman we were looking for was his half-sister the witch, just someone fairly important to the company.

"You attacked a demon? Foolish girl."

It had been self-defense and then Savannah's idea, but I said nothing. Kane didn't appear to want any response anyway. "It is strange. They are vengeful—no demon would allow the witch to slip from his grasp twice. Not without reason. Their reasoning is beyond even my capabilities, yet—no. You were right to come to me son of Kristof. I am amused."

"So you'll arrange a meeting?"

Kane smiled. His teeth were white, but had been filled away at the ends, giving them a pointed look. Animal. "For a fee, of course." Black eyes watched me, travelling up the curve of my hip and along the swell of my breast. I wanted to slap him, but I didn't dare. "I would be amenable to a new form of currency—"

"Absolutely not," Bryce snarled. "The standard fee. Her father was an Expiscor."

Kane just looked even more amused and then considered what Bryce had offered. Sorcerers. Always the business men. "Three pints, then. Kimaris's children are common enough."

"Done."

Bryce and Kane shook once, briefly. I wanted to roll my eyes but didn't bother because neither cared that they were being chauvinist pigs. At least I wasn't wet. Asking if I wanted to donate my blood was probably beyond them. They better be talking about my blood.

"I will need everything before you begin, of course."

"I figured. Instruments still on the desk?"

Kane nodded solemnly. "I will to prepare. Knock twice when the sacrifice is ready." And with that he strode from the room as if he hadn't a care in the world.

I shivered but walked over to the ancient desk. It was covered in frayed scrolls, and I studied a few as I gently cleared space for myself. There wasn't a chair to sit on, after all. Bryce got out the materials. Kane probably wouldn't have let me touch the cabinet.

Bryce stepped in front of me and we were roughly the same height, since I was sitting on the desk. Blue eyes studied me carefully. For a second I thought he knew and my blood began to pound. But he couldn't protest. Not if this was the only way to help Savannah. Three pints might not be anywhere near close to safe, but if it could help, then I sure as hell was doing it.

"This is probably going to hurt," he began. I exhaled.

"Let me do it," I said. I guess doing drugs was useful after all. I took the materials he held out. "Just get the cup ready."

I wasn't surprised to see the container Bryce held out had careful measurements on the side. The standard, wasn't that what Bryce had said? I wouldn't have been surprised if the fridge was filled with blood.

I used my lighter to sterilize the needle, even though Bryce had pulled it out of a package. It would take awhile to cool and I glanced at the scrolls around me as I waited. Words jumped out at me, words that gave me shivers when my brain automatically translated them. The portals that Kane had around his home...there were sacrifices required for that kind of power. And I didn't want to know what they were.

"Thank god he left," Bryce muttered, leaning in close, just in case Kane could still hear. "I hate fucking talking to him, even if he doesn't say much. Thinks he's better than everyone."

"I hadn't noticed."

"I suppose that's somehow my fault."

"Defensive much? You can't be responsible for everything that's rude and condescending."

Bryce leaned forward even further, his face inches from mine. "I'm kind of hurt. It was good to be the best at something."

"You do have other skills," I reassured him.

His breath tickled my neck and a shiver ran down my spine, the good kind, the one I liked. A hand ran up my thigh. "Such as?"

I pushed him away, gently. "I'm not putting on a show for the hermit. Because he'd ask to join in and that's just awkward."

Bryce laughed and carelessly brushed my hair back. It was disgusting how that one faux-intimate gesture made me want to swoon. A deep breath and then I said, "Let's do this."

He put the tourniquet on, as tight as he could, and my arm was tingling by the time we agreed on which one of us got to stick me with a needle. In the end, the fact that I had actually done this before and he had only hung around junkies (maybe that's why I loved musicians) meant I won. He took a step back and I stuck the needle in my arm. Bryce had already carefully placed the tube so that it led to the container. Blood began pouring forth. "Hold the needle?" I asked. When he took it, I removed the tourniquet, allowing the blood to flow faster. It wasn't a pleasant sensation—the needle was at an awkward angle and pinched my skin.

I kept my fingers moving as the blood poured out. Somehow, it felt like it helped. Where the tube touched my skin, it burned—how could my blood be so hot when I was always so cold?

"This is sick," Bryce muttered as he watched the blood flow through the tube and into the glass. I chattered in response. I wondered if I always got cold when this happened and I hadn't noticed because of the smack.

He didn't say anything else until he told me to stop. Applying pressure on my arm, I slipped the needle out. Bryce held up the three pints of blood.

"Perfect. He should—are you all right?"

"I should have sugar or juice or something," I said. My heart was beating like a jackhammer and I was cold, but I was conscious...

Bryce—after carefully placing the blood beside me—hurried to the tiny fridge in the corner. The blood looked thicker than I had expected, like red chocolate sauce. It made what little food I had in my stomach lurch about. He returned with a carton of orange juice.

"I'm not going to ask how he gets that stuff up here," Bryce said. "It's pulp free."

I gulped it down, straight from the carton. It didn't help. I hadn't expected it to do much. Trembling violently, I almost dropped the carton. Bryce quickly took it from me and began running his hands up and down my arms trying to warm me up.

"Is it the blood loss?"

"I think so. You're not supposed to donate that much at once. They usually stop at around a pint." And I was smaller and probably less healthy than your average person...

"You donate blood often?"

"When I could. My ex...I needed to practice healing needle marks."

"You should have mentioned that before." Bryce informed me. The movement of his hands sped up. How could you be a Cabal prince and not know how much blood a person could stand to lose? But there was a good reason I hadn't said anything before.

"I need to help."

"Having you pass out on me is not helpful, Gillian, no matter what you think." He sighed, brain whirling. "When I got shot, you performed some sort of spell for the blood loss."

"Blood replenishing." He looked at me expectantly so I clarified. "You can't cast powerful healing spells on yourself. It's the strongest branch of witch magic, but most people think it's useless because you can only help others with it, not—"

"As much as I appreciate the equal rights rant or whatever," Bryce said, "You need to shut up and say the spell."

"It won't work on me."

"You said that. I listen when you talk. That's why you're going to have to teach it to me. Preferably before you go into shock."

I stared at him for a long time, uncomprehending. But I was pretty much losing all function, so I forced myself to spit out the words, one sentence at a time. His accent was atrocious but he got the flow the second he heard the words. All it took was a little polish on the pronunciation and within ten minutes he had cast the spell.

The relief was instantaneous, if not perfect. "Is it safe to cast again?" he asked. I had stopped shaking as hard, but I was still freezing.

I considered and finally relented; I should probably take some sort of medical course soon. He screwed up the cast, but managed when he tried again. It worked, and that left him pressed against me, my own personal heating blanket. It somehow made everything a little less horrible. "That was amazing. How do you learn these spells so fast?"

"I just repeat what you say," he said. "It used to bug the hell out of Sean, how I could pick up spells in an hour that he had been working on for weeks. Dude has absolutely no sense of rhythm."

I had never thought about magic like that. It had always been about translations, the power in the words. But if the power was in the string of words...that was an interesting. Something else to look into, if I ever sat around learning spells with Savannah again.

"I bet you teased him mercilessly."

"You know it. I was an ass."

"Was?" I kissed him before he could protest. His lips were chapped. The cold wasn't doing either of us any favors. But at least I wasn't about to lose consciousness from the blood loss.

Bryce grunted something, a sound lost between tongue and teeth. When he pulled away, all he said was, "Come on. I want to show you something."

His grin kind of scared me, but I let him help me off the desk. And then since I was completely dizzy, I let him practically carry me to the door. It wasn't the same one we had entered from. That's all Kane's house seemed to be. Fireplace and doors.

Bryce pushed open the door and led me through it. I could only gape as he smiled. "What do you think?"

"We're on top of the world."

The wind was chilly, but I barely noticed. It was incredible. I reached out, almost convinced I could touch the clouds. Far down below, I could see ice and trees on other mountains, barely visible thanks to the fog. I shivered, moving closer to Bryce. It was beautiful, heart wrenchingly so, and it terrified me, utterly. I was already so small. What could I do against all of this?

"It almost makes you think he's not so wrong about everything," Bryce said quietly. I could feel his lips brush my forehead. "Almost."

"It's...amazing," I concluded lamely.

"First time I saw it, I was nine years old. Dad had to talk to Kane and I begged him to take me. So we went from the office to here. Dad made me stand outside while they did business and by the time they let me back in, I had made up my mind. I was never going to work for my family. Dad used to think it made me go crazy, like it couldn't just be a regular epiphany. But really, how can you see something like this and want to work in a two by four office the rest of your life?"

"I'm thinking your office is a little bit bigger than that."

"Maybe a little."

I took a shaky breath and asked to go back inside. I couldn't handle this. Kristof had been right. You went insane if you looked too closely at something this perfect.

Bryce's eyes never left the landscape. "We need to go over what's going to happen first. Where Kane can't hear us. He'll call the demon, but he won't get involved. I'll act as mediator and you'll talk. You're free to promise anything the Nasts have. But if you agree to anything," his voice took on that steely Cabal tone I knew so well, "Anything, without my express permission, you will have eternity to regret it. Understand me?"

"Be careful, Bryce, it almost sounds like you care."

His expression remained blank. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," I rolled my eyes. "I won't make the deal if you don't approve. I probably won't have anything a demon wants anyway. I'll have to promise away the Nast fortune."

"There's too much of it." His fingers dug into my hip a little more. "I wouldn't be too sure about having nothing a demon wants. Just make sure he doesn't get it."

"I swear." For the moment he was placated but I doubted it would last long.

Shoulders squared, he backed off, ready to get Kane. I followed, with one last look at the world around me. I don't know why I felt like crying, but I did. Inside, I moved around to get warm, trying not think about how alone I suddenly felt. Bryce knocked on Kane's door.

One loud knock and that was all it took. Kane emerged just as wild and dark as before. "Let us begin."


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

* * *

Beginning was a long process and required orders. Lots of orders. Bryce was forced to play slave, pushing all the furniture to one side. Apparently, Kane didn't want to tire himself out—though he barked loudly every time an invisible scratch appeared on his furniture.

It wasn't too bad, though, because Kane was too busy bringing supplies slowly out of the room that we weren't allowed to enter to yell too much. He stuck to glaring. Apparently, my very presence was disrupting his mojo. Whatever. He freaked me out so I figured we were even.

He brought out lots of different herbs, so many different kinds that I couldn't identify them all and—not to brag but—I knew a lot of herbs. After that, he brought out candles. And then bones. I threw up a little in my mouth and I think he noticed because he seemed delighted. When he went back into the room, I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall.

The smell of rotting...something filled the air. My eyes flew open, just so I could reassure myself that it was nowhere near my face. It looked like some sort of meat, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't. Not animal meat, anyway.

Bryce joined me by the wall, the two of us trying to give Kane as much room as he needed to prepare. On the empty hardwood floor, he drew a large circle with his herbs, arranging them in what I'm sure was a precise pattern, even if I couldn't make sense of it at all. He was taking too much care for it to be haphazard. Around the room, he removed pictures to reveal ancient symbols carved directly into the wooden walls. This wasn't just his house, it was his altar. We shouldn't be here...I couldn't say it out loud. It was far too late for that.

The candles went into another circle on the floor, outside of the herbs. Two smaller circles inside, bone in flesh in the most literal sense, were drawn before Kane went outside for a bucket of dirt, which he used to create yet another circle, so that earth and flesh mingled together.

"There are easier ways to do this, I thought," I said quietly to Bryce. Kane didn't even glance up from where he was moving a candle back and forth, trying to angle it perfectly. I didn't know much about demon summoning—except that I should never do it—but it had to be easy enough that even sorcerers could do it.

"He's going to summon someone pretty powerful. Too powerful, probably. If we're really unlucky, it'll be Baal himself." Bryce leaned over, making sure not to disturb Kane. "He's not doing this for us, Gillian. He just likes doing it. But humans can't survive being possessed for very long, not even when they're as conditioned as he is. All this is to give him the strength to endure, not to summon the demon."

"Possessed? That's—" Suicidal. Crazy. "—not safe. There are easier ways."

"The demons get off on it. Puts them in a better mood. There aren't many people on the planet who do this willingly." No shit. "Gillian? If something goes wrong, get out of this building as fast as you can. Go out the front door, the one we went through just now. They can't leave the house with his body."

"How do you know?"

"The deal I made for Leech? I was fifteen. I needed help. I still remember the rules."

"Hush," Kane said. "I'm ready to begin."

It was almost boring, watching the sorcerer summon demons. A lot of chanting, which I had done before and wasn't nearly as exciting when roughly translated it was basically: _Come mighty one, come and inhabit me_. It sounded like dialogue from a bad porn movie.

When the candles began to flicker in and out, it got a lot more scary. They would go completely out and then relight, every other one flashing. It was more movie-sorcery than anything I had ever seen in real life. The light streaming into the cabin dimmed, and through the window I could see the trees outside shaking. Kane was still chanting. A powerful wind began to blow, even though the door remained shut. My hair began to get in the way of my vision. Beyond the blonde curtain, I could see Kane's hair doing the same.

Lightening sounded outside and I jumped. Bryce grabbed my wrist, holding it a little tighter than was comfortable. He looked a little pale himself. The whole earth was shaking. The chanting continued, only now Kane was screaming and the smell of burning flesh began to waft through the air. The objects in the circle erupted in flames and were quickly devoured.

"I was summoned?"

It was Kane who spoke, but there was no doubt that it wasn't really him. The sorcerer had radiated power. The being before us was a hundred times worse.

"Speak."

For once, Bryce sounded polite as he explained how I wanted to make a deal. He even threw in a couple sirs. It wasn't much for groveling, but it was much better than I had expected of him. Deferral didn't suit Bryce, but I was impressed he could remotely fake it.

Kane's black eyes turned to me but they held none of the condemnation that they usually did. There was only mild curiosity and nothing more.

"Unremarkable creature. Kimaris never has much luck with whelps." Maybe because grand-daddy wasn't remarkable himself, I thought, but didn't dare say aloud. Still, Kane's eyes blinked and I was terrified the demon had heard. When he spoke, he bit out each thought slowly, like he wasn't used to having to say anything at all. "Do you know who I am, child?"

"No, sir," I replied honestly. You can't lie to demons, no matter how good you are—they were too good at it themselves. Instead, I gave a little bow, because it seemed like he wanted it. "He never said, but I can tell you we're honored you choose to appear to us."

"He often brings me interesting specimens. He is rewarded greatly when I am pleased." The demon smiled Kane's smile but the teeth suddenly looked like fangs. "And punished when I am not. I am Moloch, Lord of Hell, Right Hand of Baal, Devourer of Children, More Powerful than the Stars. And it pleases me to help you."

"Gillian MacArthur." Did the brevity sound disrespectful? I hoped not. "We're honored that you've appeared. I suppose you already know what we want, sir, but I figured—anyway, any information you have on the demon that keeps attacking would be greatly appreciated."

Demons, especially the higher ups, could keep tabs on each other when someone was on Earth, though they rarely shared that information with us lower beings. They compared it to looking down from heaven, but no one was stupid enough to take a demon at his word. The point was that they knew things about where other demons were on earth—it would be easy enough for a Lord of Hell to think around and find out who had been in L.A. in the last little while.

"Your offer?"

"Oh." I had figured that he would just come out and name his price. What did demons want these days? Cable? "Well, there's violence."

"And sex." Always about the sex. "Is that why you brought your lover with you, little one?"

Lover? I cringed. It sounded so...intimate. Like we were close. Like he wouldn't offer me to the demon in a heartbeat if it suited his purposes. But, the demon did have a point. It would be awfully convenient.

"No children," I told him. I wouldn't—couldn't—do to another living creature what my mother had done to me. If you weren't ready for children, you shouldn't have them. Period. Especially with Lords of Hell.

The air became moist when Moloch laughed, tickling my skin. "Kimaris would be most offended if his descendant bore one of mine. He is merely an annoyance, but it serves my plans none to offend him."

I'm sure it sounds horrible and degrading, but really, it didn't seem that bad. Sex with Bryce, or sex with a creature that looked like Bryce—there couldn't be that much of a difference, could there? And it was probably the least horrific of the options we would have to pick from.

I glanced at Bryce and realized the only reason he hadn't said anything yet was that he had been rendered speechless. But he was clearly furious. Eyes bulging, hands shaking, face bright red—very, very furious. Furious and scared. And that's what cinched it.

"I'm really good at healing spells," I suggested, changing the topic.

Moloch chuckled and the house shook. That really wasn't comforting. "You would find little use for such magic where I am from. No, you will have to offer something else"

"How about you tell us what you want and then we'll decide if we can do it?" Bryce's tone was borderline insubordinate and I cut in quickly before Moloch decided that what he really wanted was to teach Bryce some manners. Even demons could believe in the impossible.

"If you don't mind."

"I will tell you who seeks you and anything else you desire to know about him. In return—I confess, I have yet to fully test the limits of witch healing. If you were to take a man, and were to measure how long you could keep him alive while you cut him to pieces, removed his flesh inch by inch, stopped him from bleeding out as each bit of him came off, I would be interested in providing you with information."

"I..."

"I would complete my side of the bargain today," he added magnanimously. "You will have within the month to begin to complete yours."

"I couldn't."

"Couldn't you?" He seemed almost kind as he smiled at me, just looking out for the granddaughter of a friend. "Is there no man out there you can think who would deserve such a fate? A man with dark hair and thick fingers, perhaps? A man who has escaped justice long enough?"

For Savannah...would it really hurt? Hadn't he brought it on himself? I felt sick. Not because I couldn't do it—but because I thought I could. I think I could have watched him suffer and been okay with it. But I'd been hanging around Paige too long; it wouldn't have been right. And maybe being around Bryce had been a good thing, because I finally realized it wasn't a fair deal, either.

He hadn't wanted Dana to die. He hadn't cared about her living, of course, but he hadn't wanted her dead.

It wasn't fair of me to want him dead for that. I could keep on not caring about him living, but to torture him to death...

It wasn't fair.

There was a part of me that was very disappointed.

"Can I hear option B?" I asked.

To my surprise, he actually provided me with one. "Or you could simply kill the demon I will tell you about."

"You can't kill demons," I blurted out without thinking. Moloch merely blinked. Glancing over, I asked Bryce, "Can you?"

He nodded slowly. "It's dangerous, obviously, but—we can do it. As long as you only have to cast the killing blow and not do the whole process by yourself."

Moloch seized on this: "Information and the location, in exchange for you casting the killing blow against Foras within the week. That is my offer."

"Let's make a deal."

Bryce performed the spell that would bind me and Moloch to our sides of the bargain. I couldn't cast the binding magic Bryce could, and he couldn't cast it on himself. He could only act as intermediary. Which maybe wasn't safe for me, since having me die probably wouldn't motivate anyone, but I was the only other person around for miles.

Moloch seemed to enjoy the pomp and ceremony, even though it did drag on. I wasn't about to say anything. I sort of had to follow the example of the Devourer of the Stars or whatever.

When the spell was complete, Moloch turned his attention back to me. "Do you know of Foras, child?"

What I knew of demonology I had picked up from Adam Vasic, and I was usually too busy trying to use my as-of-yet undiscovered telepathic powers to influence him to make a move on Savannah to bother listen to the words coming out of his mouth. I shook my head.

Moloch sighed, a 'what do they teach you in these schools?' kind of sigh and explained: "He was once a favorite of the Lord Baal, despite his limited abilities. Every demon is strong, and so his fall from grace was not mourned. We did not care when he was locked away in the lowest dungeon in the very bowels of hell. We only cared when he escaped and for hundreds of years we could not find him. Can you guess where he went, child?"

"The time tear?" I offered.

Moloch nodded, and Kane's face looked at me almost proudly. "He had not been lost. He had merely left the eternal realms for the mortal, stuck in transition for more years than you could comprehend."

The Lords of Hell could watch him while he was here, but their ability to punish Foras would be limited until he was back in their realms. There were rules about this sort of thing—demons couldn't kill other demons on Earth. They liked to pretend otherwise, but Earth wasn't their sandbox. A demon who wanted sanctuary, who wanted to prove himself worthy of redemption, could stay among the humans and none of the others could drag him back to hell. Unless someone as stupid as me came along and offered to help...

Moloch was a little more diplomatic about it, but that's essentially what he said.

"But why would he stop attacking us, suddenly?"

"Any who pass the threshold of your so-called 'time tear' are indebted to the one who created it. They must obey."

"So whoever opened the tear told Foras to leave us alone?"

"Not necessarily. He may have been called back without consideration of his current activities."

"You talk like the creator would have been able to know what he was doing."

"The threshold is an act of power that mortals should not have."

"So someone could see what the demon was doing, if they wanted, just because he passed through it once?"

"Easily."

"So who created it?"

"That information is beyond even me," he said. I must have looked a little disbelieving, because he continued: "If we were all-powerful, do you really think we would be in Hell? I know that the threshold enslaves all who pass through it. I know not who commands this one."

"But I went through," I pointed out. "Does that mean whoever opened it could command me?"

"You entered," Moloch corrected. "And returned. You did not pass through, you were released. It can be a meddlesome creature that way—a wise mortal would never attempt to domesticate it."

"It's...alive?"

"It is beyond your comprehension, child, as are most of the ancient powers. I would wager that the one who opened it does not understand the power they are trying to control. Now, is there any other information you would like before I show you the location of Foras?"

Unable to think of anything, I glanced at Bryce to make sure I had covered everything. All we really wanted to do was find the bastard and find who was controlling him. Bryce shook his head and I turned back.

"I think we're good. Are you just going to tell us where he is?"

Moloch made a sound almost like a snort. "He will move. I will bless you with a gift. You will see him in your mind's eye until he leaves this mortal realm and falls under the power of Lord Baal once more. Or until your week is over."

I shivered, my stomach a block of ice. But I had agreed.

"Okay."

Moloch's eyes flashed fire for an instant, which was even more terrifying than the black. And that's how I sold my soul to the devil. Not even _the_ devil, but a devil. There wasn't even a flash of lightening or something dramatic like that. He walked straight out of Kane's circle of fire, just to show he could. The skin on Kane's body rippled and tightened, giving the demon an even more skeletal appearance.

"Close your eyes and kneel before me."

I did as I was told. Maybe I should have asked what his power was first—power of the stars sounded nice, but what did that really entail? The air above my head began to swelter and I had my answer. Sweat poured off my forehead like it was some kind of faucet. My hair matted to my neck. I would have screamed but found I was paralyzed. A burning hand came to rest on my forehead.

He spoke in a mixture of Hebrew and Arabic and something far older than either of them. I didn't need to know the language to know the words. I could feel them, embedding themselves in me, branding me. The power of Moloch filled me. The pain grew and I knew no more.

* * *

I woke up not on the floor, but curled up in Bryce's lap as he sat on the ground, leaning against the wall for strength. It couldn't have been easy to hold me when I kept shaking. My eyes fluttered shut and I let myself take a nice long deep breath to try to stop myslef from freaking out. When I finally found my courage, I opened my eyes and looked around the cabin for Kane.

His body was lying right in the middle of the circle. At least, I assumed it was Kane's body. His once pitch black hair had turned white; his skin was leathery, weathered and beaten. It was a corpse, not a man.

"Is he—?" But I didn't dare complete the thought.

"He'll look normal when he wakes up. One of his many deals." It was twisted. Not right. Unnatural.

"Why would he do something like that?"

"Because he could. And then he had, too. Because he couldn't stop." Bryce sighed, and I felt his body deflated around me. "He had a family once, you know. A whole handful of kids and this wife...when I was about two or three there was an earthquake and then—Dad said he wasn't the same afterwards. He started...I guess he figured if he could break every other limit there was, he could somehow find a way to bring them back." I curled into Bryce even further. "But even he knows you can't bring back the dead."

"What's the point of all that power then?"

"I don't think even he can remember any more. There's no stopping him now; at least he's still useful. Does whatever the hell Moloch did to you work?"

I closed my eyes, unsure of what would happen. The darkness didn't have a chance to descend. The feeling was impossible to describe—I was everywhere at once. I was flying through the sky, I was lying on the beach, I was shopping in Paris, I was shivering in the Arctic, I was sweating in Beijing. It was glorious. I could have touched the stars. A gasp tore from my throat as I dove through the streets. And then there he was—Foras was walking through the streets of L.A.

"It works," I breathed out, trying to control it. Impossible. Euphoria was overtaking me and I found myself moaning in ecstasy. The power of the immortals—I knew then why Kane had turned himself into a shadow of a man. I knew.

"Careful," a voice that didn't belong to Bryce snapped and I quickly opened my eyes. It was Kane, looking as he had when we had arrived. Dark, wild hair and barely wrinkled skin. A timeless mask over a withered body. A death mask. "Careful witch. What they call a blessing is a curse to you and I."

A warning, and remembering the white-haired mess from before, I could listen. I kept my eyes open and pulled my mind away from that vision. With a small, embarrassed smile at Bryce, I got up. "We should go. I'd like to find the demon quickly."

"We should track it for a while, see if it can't lead us back to its master first," he said. He turned to Kane. "I appreciate this."

"No witches next time," Kane snapped. "And I better not see you soon."

Bryce snorted and began ushering me to a door. Not the one we had come through to enter, not the front door, and not the one Kane disappeared into. Yet another one. Damn doors. "See you in another ten years, you old coot."

Kane's snarling face was the last thing I saw, before the door slammed shut behind us.

* * *

I wasn't surprised to find myself back in the middle of the California desert—maybe a little. I figured Kane would make us suffer, but I guess he wanted his guests to leave as fast as possible. It took a few moments to orient ourselves and then we were off, walking back towards the highway where Paulson should have returned to wait for us.

The desert sun beat down, but at least it was warm. After all that I had been through, I appreciated the heat. "Bryce," I asked as I scrambled to keep up with his long strides, "Why did he owe your father?"

He laughed but looked almost embarrassed when he answered. "When Dad found out Kane summoned Lucifer for me, he went to try and kill Kane. Kane probably would have won, but I think even he realized he had crossed a line. He promised Dad a favor."

"So you caused the favor and collected it." Only Bryce. "Why did you want to talk to Lucifer?"

"Did Leech tell you—?" I confirmed it. "We made the deal with Lucifer. We were young and Lucifer sounded the coolest. Afterwards, Kane even complimented me, said I did an excellent job of creating loop-holes for my client. The unfunny thing was I hadn't meant to." His grin became sadder, softer. "Dad was actually proud. It's not every teenager that can make a deal with Lucifer and not end up selling away his soul."

That was debatable. Leech had told me some of the things he had done before Lucifer would implement his side of the bargain. Most of them had not been pleasant—or legal. But he had gotten what he wanted. The dead had stopped bothering him. Even if every other necromancer on the planet thought he was a traitor to his own kind.

"Did his mom really get that bad?" I asked, almost jogging to keep up. I was a lightheaded. We needed to get back and start helping, but I suspected I was going to pass out soon, instead.

"She was powerful," he said. "Super powerful, but only in weird ways. They were some sort of inbred branch of necros, her family. She might have been okay if it wasn't for her husband. He was VP back then and angling for a promotion. He pushed her, he pushed her and pushed her and fucking—" Bryce broke off angrily. "When she started losing it, it happened so goddamn fast. When they said her family could do things other necromancers couldn't, there was a reason for that. He shouldn't have made her do that shit. Fucking—"

He broke off and slowed down. "Leech freaked. His dad was useless, too busy with the woman he had destroyed to take care of his son. If I hadn't been around—he tried to kill himself, you know. I love the guy but he's sort of useless. Couldn't even do that right. That's when I remembered Kane. And we made the deal."

I shivered. My mother had been a bitch, my father had never been around. But the power I had didn't mean I had to be like them. I was grateful, all of a sudden, for not having to make that choice. Your power or your sanity—I don't think I could chose. The power was who you were. Could you give that up just to stay alive? Leech had, but sometimes when he looked at Bryce I was pretty sure he hated his best friend from sparing him from the madness and all that came with it.

"You and your deals," I muttered as I followed him down into the gorge.

"Should we talk about your deals, then? Because I have to say, Gillian," his voice rose as we walked, "Almost agreeing to have sex with a demon is ridiculously stupid, even for you."

"It's just sex," I mumbled. "Anyway, it's not like you wouldn't have gotten to watch."

He finally stopped walking, if only to turn around and yell at me. "Are you insane? Don't answer that—I've noticed you can't seem to accidently stop putting your life in danger, but are you really that dumb? Do you have any idea—?"

He broke off, probably so he wouldn't strangle me. I replied honestly. "No. Two weeks ago I'd never seen a demon, never mind drawn up a contract with them. Which is why I didn't do it. You said not to and I didn't. I'm sorry if I don't understand what would be so bad about it but give me credit for not going through with it. "

He seemed to accept that. Though he continued lecturing me, his voice lost some of its anger. It was cold and flat.

"Cacodemons only have mutually enjoyable sex when they're smart and powerful enough that they want the mother to raise the child herself. They aren't gentle when they've had to promise not to have offspring afterwards. Why would they bother? They aren't getting anything out of being kind. He would have torn you apart, Gillian. And he wouldn't have stopped until you were bleeding, broken, unconscious and in too much pain to move when you did wake up. Do you understand? It would have been ugly. I would have had to watch that. And afterwards, all you would be able to think is how I raped you even as you begged me to stop."

"It would have bothered you?" I asked uncertainly. I couldn't concentrate on the other words he had said. If I did, I would freak. It had never occurred to me. I didn't think—obviously that was my problem. Then I realized what I had just said. "That came out wrong," I said quickly. "I just meant...what happened to the 'if they're idiots, they deserve it' thing you've got going on?"

Bryce shook his head, but there was a glimmer of amusement on his face. "You really are an idiot, MacArthur. I have to give you that. But you're a special kind and so I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"That's almost sweet."

"You and that damn word." And then finally he noticed that I was seconds away from passing out. "Could you please say something when you're not feeling well?"

"There's nothing you can do. It would have been a waste of breath."

He muttered something about wasting breath and then began climbing up the other side of the gorge. I scrambled after him, tripping over loose rocks. Outdoors was not nice to me. Strong hands on my hips had to lift me up the last little way.

He studied me like I was some interesting desert specimen that he found vaguely disturbing. A lizard maybe. Thoughts raced across his face, too fast for me to read, and he dismissed them all before announcing. "Damn. Come on, get on."

He turned around and crouched so I was facing solid back. "Bryce, this is ridic—"

"Gillian, hurry up before I decide to push you down the hill."

It was a long way to fall. With a long suffering sigh—because this was humiliating—I climbed onto his back. "How far do you think you could possibly carry me?" I demanded as we set off.

I might have given him more credit, but the ground was uneven and the terrain unexpectedly filled with strange plants. It would be hard enough for him to balance on his own, let alone with my weight on him.

"Until you don't look like you're going to pass out. Now, put your mouth to go use and provide a distraction."

I couldn't help grinning. Squeezing my legs tightly around him, I breathed right in his ear. "What kind of distraction do you want, Bryce?"

"One that doesn't require us to stop and fuck in the middle of nowhere."

I pouted a little, just for show. Not only was sex a bad idea for future ruining reasons, but we also had to make good time back to Los Angeles. A distraction was needed for my sake, too. Fighting the urge to close my eyes and let myself fly through the city was taking more willpower than I had.

"What to talk about? Hmmm..." I cast my mind around, trying to come up with something. We had probably spent most of the day walking back and forth from Kane's. "So how do you plan to get your grandfather to name Josef heir?"

"How do I get Grandpa to change his mind? I don't, Gillian. It's impossible."

"Sure you can. Even Thomas Nast is remotely human—he can change his mind. The trick is to figure out how to do it. Come on, Bryce, I want to help."

"And how can you help?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm almost scarily good at getting people to do what I want them to do. In the short-term, anyway. I'm the worst at anything long-term, but if you temporarily need to manipulate someone, I'm your girl."

"Really, now?"

"Yup. I can help you figure out how to emotionally blackmail your grandfather, if you want me too."

"I love it when you talk dirty." He snorted. "You're completely ridiculous, you realize."

"Maybe," I agreed. "Is that a no?"

"Fuck no. Should I start telling you about his childhood phobias?"

I laughed as we slowly made our way out of the desert, talking about Thomas Nast. Not that I managed to come up with anything he hadn't thought of—or tried, which actually made me feel sorry for the old bastard for a whole three seconds—but it was fun.

Both of us were careful not to mention bastard children. Bargaining is a lot less fun when you're talking about your own flesh and blood.

We made our way out of the desert in that way. Bryce would carry me when I started looking too pale for his liking and I would demand to be put down when he started stumbling. When we hit a dead end in trying to come up with ways to ruin his future, he finished teaching me the spell we had been working on the night before (was it only the night before that I thought Savannah was finally safe? Would this nightmare never end?) And just like we expected, Paulson was waiting patiently when we emerged.

Bryce helped me into the backseat and climbed into the front. "Where to, sir?" Paulson asked.

Bryce turned around to look at me and I closed my eyes. It left me dizzy but exhilarated. I told them the address and we sped off.

* * *

When I blurted out that demons couldn't be killed, I was pretty close to the truth. They weren't mortal like we were and so they couldn't die. But they broke just like we did. If you could hurt a demon enough, they had to go back to where they came from to heal. When inquired just how much was enough the only answer I got was an abrupt, "Badly."

Reassuring.

I napped a little in the backseat. There was even a blanket. It helped sort of helped.

Bryce called Leech and relayed the information we had learned about the time tear while I slept. Occasionally, he would wake me up and ask for directions. It became second nature, to close my eyes and just know where Foras was. No wonder demons were power mad. It just seemed so easy, close your eyes and there were no more mysteries. He was slowly moving out of L.A. to some sort of rural land and it was harder and harder to find an address. But Moloch's gift held up. I could track Foras no matter where he went.

When I fully woke up, we were struggling through Los Angeles traffic. Before moving out here, I hadn't really realized just how many cars there were in the world. Now I knew. They all piled onto the streets of L.A. I missed Georgia, sometimes.

"Did you call your brother?" I asked, leaning over the front seat.

"I'll call him when I have something to say. Foras still where we left him?"

I closed my eyes but this time he wasn't on the road. He was walking into some sort of barn. There didn't seem to be anyone around, luckily. No, wait...there was. There was a man in black, weapon in hand, walking casually up to the demon. Talking to him. Foras nodded and sat straight-backed on the floor.

It was the man in uniform that interested me. I recognized him. Twelve-Thirteen. I pulled away from the vision, just slightly, enough so I could see more of the situation. The man gestured and _another_ man in old Nast strike force uniform nodded. He repeated the gesture and another man nodded. There was a whole team of them, surrounding the demon but doing nothing.

"We have a problem," I informed Bryce. "I think he's waiting for something to happen."

"What?" I told Bryce what I was seeing. He swore and then asked, "How many are there?"

I tried to control the vision, but it was like trying to count the clouds while sitting in a roller coaster. "Four—three. Wait, there's six. No, five. Wait." I tried to relax, but that didn't help. But I would do this. Finally, I was pretty sure: "There's eight of them. Shouldn't there be more?"

Bryce shot me a look. "They were in a rather spectacular car wreck and then a fire fight that only some of them managed to escape from. I'm going to call Sean, see if anyone else has followed these guys."

As Bryce rambled on, I stopped paying attention. Because a car was driving down the street in front of the barn...a very familiar car.

"Don't call Sean. Call the Cortezes."

Bryce actually did as I asked, even though it meant hanging up mid-sentence. "Pick up, pick up," I urged them. Mr Cortez glanced down at his cell phone and saw the caller id. He said something to Paige, who rolled her eyes. I tried casting a communication spell—which I knew we were too far away for it to work. Mr Cortez opened the phone and I exhaled.

But he didn't have a chance to say anything. Paige pointed something out and Mr Cortez lowered the phone and the two of them hurried off to the barn.

I was practically crying—Savannah would never forgive me if they got hurt while I was supposed to be protecting them. I wouldn't forgive me. I quickly told the others what I was seeing, then demanded, "How fast can we get there?"

"In this traffic?"

The look Bryce shot Paulson scared me, and I was just getting it second hand. "Twenty minutes," the Cabal prince said.

"Twenty minutes," the hapless minion repeated.

"Sean might be closer," Bryce suggested, calling up his brother.

"Can't you call in anyone else?" Cabal forces had the best response time in the world.

"Anyone we call in will see that we're helping the Cortezes. They might try and find out why. If they do and they tell Grandpa , there's no longer going to be an investigation."

"There might no longer be a Lucas and Paige Cortez," I snapped.

For a moment I could see how little that meant to him, how he was already considering the opportunities that would provide. But he was smart enough not to say anything to me—I would have had no choice but to kill him. Instead, he sighed. "Let me talk to Sean."

His conversation with his brother was brief. Sean was half an hour away, but promised to bring with him a team he thought would be discrete about this.

While the Nast brothers were being useless, Lucas and Paige walked into the barn. One of the men from Twelve-Thirteen shouted something. The Cortezes took one long look around and reluctantly put their hands into the air. That's when Foras walked towards the prisoners. He didn't look like he was ready for a friendly chat.

"Can't you go any faster?" I begged.

Bryce reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a police siren, which he handed to Paulson, who set it on the roof. I was never going to say anything bad about Cabals and their disrespect for the law again. The cars finally began to part and we tore past everyone.

There was nothing else left to do but hope we got there fast enough.


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

* * *

It took us twenty-four minutes.

The longest twenty-four minutes of my life.

The men in the barn surrounded Lucas and pulled him to the center of the room, where Foras began to set up some sort of sacrificial..._something_ that I didn't like the look of at all. Two men grabbed Paige and though she gave a token struggle, there wasn't much she could do except wait until they threw her on the ground behind them to start muttering.

Meanwhile, Lucas was being stripped of his shirt and forced to kneel in front of the demon, who promptly broke the neck of the man in black nearest to him. The rest of them pulled back for a second, guns raised. The demon just chuckled.

"You can leave if you wish," he taunted. The men of the squadron glared back, unmoving until one by one they seemed to exhale, to accept what the demon had done.

"It was my turn," one of the younger ones said. They were looking at their fallen comrade and I was tempted to say they were jealous. And that scared me even more than seeing the demon hovering above Mr Cortez.

Without much fanfare, Foras bent down and ripped the head off the dead man. My stomach lurched and I ended up hurling over the side of the car. Back in the horror fest that was the time tear future-Savannah had cried that she had killed Lucas. I didn't want to watch it really happen—especially when it included decapitation. Foras used the dead man's blood to begin drawing symbols on Lucas. I tried to pretend it was just paint, to focus on the symbols.

I demanded a pen from Bryce and he handed it over so I could begin drawing the symbols out on my arm, to make sure I had a copy. They were symbols of protection, I thought, which didn't make any sense (they were going to kill Lucas, not protect him). Maybe they were something I was mistaking for protection symbols...

"We're almost there," Bryce promised.

"What happens when we get there?" Paulson asked. "I'm not trained for large offensive measures and we're outnumbered."

"We could bring the barn down," I offered. Bryce's spell should work; the barn looked old enough. "That should buy us the time to save Lucas and Paige."

Paige had managed to get off a fireball spell and had escaped the control of the men holding her. I was too much of a coward to keep watching; there was no way she could escape. There was too many of them. She wouldn't get away, just hopefully buy us enough time—and not get killed in the process. That was a pretty important part of the plan.

"You want to bring down a barn on the people we're trying to rescue?" Bryce demanded. "How about a plan that doesn't require trying to kill the people we want to save?"

"What do you suggest?"

"They're Nast employees. I might be able to call them off. If that doesn't work, I can at least distract them with offers to buy them off long enough for Sean to come with reinforcements."

"That's you _not_ risking your life?"

"I will not end up dead," he said confidently. "I will not die for Lucas Cortez. Stalling them really is our only option—and since I don't trust you to do anything without getting yourself killed, I will have to be the one to do it."

Paige had been subdued and Foras started tying up the struggling Lucas. The men in black looked almost bored at the Cortezes attempts to get free.

That's when the farmhouse finally came into view. Paulson drove straight through an abandoned field, to get us to the barn faster. It worked, but it one of the men heard us approaching and called out to another man to come with him.

"You take the one on your left," I told Bryce. He didn't have much time to react, but as the men came out of the barn, he followed my instructions. I was a little faster with the energy bolt, knowing I was going to prepare it, but both of us managed to get our targets. Of course, he managed to kill the man outright, while I just caused him to stumble to his knees. I cast a body bind spell so the man wouldn't shoot us before we could park the car.

Paulson pulled out his gun, attached a silencer and took care of the man. I kept my eyes closed, watching Foras start casting some sort of spell. It really did sound like a protection spell, though not like anything I had ever heard of. Demon magic, perhaps. But why on Lucas?

"Wait here," Bryce commanded. I nodded and he sighed. "Don't get yourself killed."

Bryce and Paulson walked inside; I didn't waste much time, just noted that their presence had stopped Foras and that they hadn't been shot on sight. Then I was off to the side of the barn where someone had thankfully left a ladder. After kicking off my shoes and socks, I scrambled up it. It ended just below the roof, but I could pull myself up and over. The roof was luckily rotten enough to provide me with suitably handholds, even if it wasn't easy to climb.

I closed my eyes, to see Bryce arguing with the men, who were trying to herd him into the area with Paige. Foras's face finally registered annoyance, which had the benefit of stopping his spell. The demon was staring at Bryce, like he was the strangest thing he had seen in quite some time.

I didn't need a spell to get through the roof, just physical strength to pry a rotten piece right off. Bryce's incessant whining drowned out the noise. Two pieces and I managed to create an opening big enough for me to slip through, so I could drop in and land quietly on one of the beams that held the roof together. There was a loft filled with straw just beneath me, hiding me from the view of the people below. I crept forward a little, enough so that I could see Bryce now had a gun pointed at his chest.

"Put that away," Foras boomed. "Do you know what would happen if you were foolish enough to kill him now? Put the weapon down."

"They want the spell complete more," one of the men argued. "And the other is still alive."

I glanced around the barn, taking in the architecture without the nausea that accompanied the visions. The beams looked like they were the only thing holding the roof up, and that they would be easier to destroy from the center. I stood up, and quickly began to walk across the beam. It was thicker than a balance beam, but not by much and a hell of a lot higher. I tried not to look down or close my eyes, because feeling dizzy right then would not be a good idea.

"And less amusing. They would disapprove," Foras snapped.

"We were protecting the spell. He should not have interfered."

"Perhaps you should find out why he is, human."

I didn't like the sound of that at all. Bryce just sounded bored. "I'm going to be tortured by minions? How embarrassing."

"This way, sir," one of them hissed, pushing him and Paulson towards Paige.

Another man spoke up. There were only five of them now, plus the demon, but that didn't mean we would be able to take them unless we caught them by surprise. "The girl may be nearby. They would not be happy if the spell took precedence over her."

Foras closed his eyes and I began to cast, a little fearful of the result. While Bryce's spell would have been better, I didn't know it well enough to try and had too little power left to risk a miscast—so I was sticking to a hopefully well placed lightning bolt. Foras began to look up. It was going to be a long fall, as I stood there above him with nothing to catch hold of, but there was nothing to be done about that. His face turned up fully and every eye in the place glanced up at me. But it didn't matter. I was finished.

The beam in front of me splintered it half, raining down on the people below. I quickly followed it up with another spell and then I was exhausted, but it didn't. That was all it took to destabilize the whole roof. The other beams started cracking under a strain they were not built to handle.

Down below, everyone had recognized that the fight was starting. As the beams started raining down, Lucas tried to jerk away from the demon, Paulson and Bryce attacked the men holding them (helped by the fact Twelve-Thirteen were reluctant to shoot them), and Paige rushed to try and help her husband. I think she got the man in black that was closest to Lucas—I didn't stay to watch. There was the little matter of the ground coming out from under me.

Having destabilized every other beam in the place, it was no wonder that the beam I was on began to waver under the strain. I walked faster but I could hear the wood cracking underneath me. And then it wasn't underneath me any longer.

I don't think I screamed as I fell. I might have, but I don't think so. All I was aware of was no longer having anything to stand on. And then I was in someone's arms.

Foras.

That's when I know I started screaming.

He didn't let go, just looked emotionlessly at the rest. Lucas had erected a barrier spell around him and his wife as two men circled. It was stopping them from getting hit by the falling debris, while Paige took out their attackers. Paulson and Bryce had just managed to subdue the two men who had been attacking them, despite their coughing, but they couldn't seem to decide where their help was needed next. Wasn't I already as good as dead?

But seeing as I wasn't yet, I stopped screaming and said quietly, "Are you going to kill me?"

"I cannot. You should not be here. You have never been here before."

"Before?"

He dropped me then, falling to the ground in pain. I scrambled away from him as fast as I could. Bryce had cast...something. An anti-demon spell, perhaps? The door to the barn opened and through the falling wood and hay I could see Sean walk through, flanked by two men. The cavalry was here. I sighed in relief.

I didn't notice the beam coming down on me until it was far too late to move.

* * *

I woke up in pain, but at least I woke up. Bryce was moving the last of the beams off me, while Paige was casting something on my ankle. It was twice as big as normal and an ugly colour. But I could move my toes. At least it wasn't broken again, though I couldn't stop the tears of frustration. I was never going to get back on the team.

Paige noticed the wiggling. "Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"No." Though the rest of me felt tender, it wasn't an unendurable pain. "Is everyone else all right?"

Bryce answered. "Most of the strike force men are dead. As for the demon...Sean and Lucas took care of him. Mostly. You think you can get up?"

Paige pursed her lips, leaving me to wonder exactly how much Bryce had told her. She couldn't be too mad about the deal with the devil thing, since it had possibly save her life.

"I could use a hand."

Bryce waved over my head and then Paulson was by my side, helping me to me feet, putting an arm around my waist to keep me balanced so I could hobble over to where the demon lay on the ground.

"Paulson, you idiot," Bryce snapped. "She weights ten pounds." Paulson blinked, completely unsure what he meant. Bryce heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Get her off her feet. My god, Grant's right. They're all fucking hopeless."

Paulson looked at me unsure, but I just rolled my eyes and waited. Because my ankle hurt like hell and it didn't seem like a good idea to cross Bryce right now. Paulson reluctantly picked me up and carried me over to where Sean and Lucas were.

Whatever they had done—no more than what they had to do, because they were good people—it didn't look pretty. It was lucky that Foras had always reminded me of a Ken doll. Seeing him banged up and bruised didn't bother me much, because he still didn't look human.

Sean handed me a pitchfork (the sharpest tool they had been able to find), but turned away quickly after that. Paulson put me down as Lucas to explained, "If you could just sever the head, Gillian..." in that oh-so polite voice he always used, despite the distaste that dripped from his words.

Using a pitchfork did not make it easy. The first time I stabbed through the demons throat, the pain in my head came out of nowhere, pulsating, burning—I almost fell over. Paulson had to catch me as I convulsed because it wasn't supposed to feel like this. I was just supposed to be watching him, not...it wasn't fair. I was everywhere and everyone and I wasn't powerful enough to handle it and I was supposed to be.

But I brought the pitchfork down again and this time, despite the pounding, despite how I thought I was going to die for the excruciating agony of it all, and I didn't stop until there was nothing holding Ken's head to his body anymore. With one last strike of pain, it was done.

Foras was dead. And all I could see was what was in front of me.

"What was that about?" Paige asked.

Bryce gave the world's shortest, most inaccurate summary, hands rubbing small circles on my back. At least he hadn't told her to fuck off. Paige evidently wasn't satisfied, but in a moment she turned back to her husband, to reassure herself he was still alive.

"Sirs, one of the half-demons is still alive," one Sean's men announced. A look around told me Sean had only brought two other men with him. Probably his bodyguards. They really were that selfishly scared that their grandfather would find out. Paulson picked me up again, but Paige stayed with us as the non-cripples went to circle the captive.

"Demon vision?" she asked.

"Whatever works," I said.

To my surprise, she nodded. I wanted to reassure her, but what could I possibly say? I was useless at this sort of thing. "That was an unnecessarily risky distraction," Paige admonished quietly. "We all could have died."

"You didn't."

There was indeed one of the men of Twelve-Thirteen still left alive, with a foot in the center of his chest and a host of weapons pointed at him. There was just the small matter of what to do with him.

"Torture is faster."

So nice to see Bryce being helpful.

"But not necessarily accurate," Lucas objected.

"Whereas asking nicely always works."

Sean provided an objection his brother might actually acknowledge. "Fitz and Davis aren't trained in interrogation and Paulson's only been on the job for a few months. There's no way you've got him trained up in that time. We wouldn't know how."

But Bryce had taken my minion rights speech a little too much to heart. He wasn't going to let the minions do anything he wouldn't do himself. "Since when did you like delegating so much, Sean? I was trying to say we'd have to do it ourselves. Honestly, at this point, I'm not about to let that information be given to anyone but me personally."

Sean was rendered speechless and turned to Lucas to overrule his brother. It was Paige that spoke up.

"He might not even know anything."

"And he might. Does Savannah have time for us to waste?"

The three of them still didn't like it. They never would like it. It was too wrong. To torture someone properly you had to forget they were human just like you and the three of them were all about the equality. It was the basis of their whole existence and they couldn't just ignore it. That's why Sean was wavering, a little, because it was still a new way of thinking to him. But if Lucas said no, he would say no.

"I can do it by myself," Bryce said, exasperated. "Just fix him up so he doesn't die in the meantime and then Paulson can hold him down while I do...whatever it is I have to."

No one moved. My ankle was still throbbing and so it hurt when I stumbled forward. Paige seemed too horrified by what I was doing to bother stopping me.

"Hold him down," I heard Bryce order and the bodyguards did just that.

The man didn't look too badly damaged, just severely bruised. The crushed leg I couldn't fix and there was no point in trying. But the bruising I could take care of and helping out would give me a chance to try avoiding copious amounts of bloodshed. Just because I could survive sinking so desperately low—and only for Savannah—didn't mean I was eager to see how much attention Bryce had paid during company interrogations.

"You could just let them buy you off," I told the man from Twelve-Thirteen. "It'll be faster and probably less painful. Last I heard, the Nasts were having a good year. Hawaii has to be gorgeous, or maybe someplace even more exotic..."

"Witch?"

I jumped a little, jarring the arm I was trying to fix more than I should have. "Yes?"

"I like it better when you're more creative."

"There's only so many healing spells out there."

"Fewer than you think," he said. "I won't talk unless I have a reason. Give me a reason?"

He looked at me, dark eyes pleading for something. It would have been nice if he had just spit out what he wanted, but I could play along. Even if it didn't work, it would give Bryce time to gather whatever he tools he was collecting that I was too much of a coward to think about.

"They're going to tear California apart," I said slowly. Lying was easy enough, but narratives were a little bit different. I just went with whatever popped into my head. "Savannah is important to the people behind me. You think the two strongest Cabals on the planet are going to let your boss hurt her? You're crazy. They are going to find her. Using whatever means necessary. That means there are going to be a lot of bodies.

"My father did what you do. I know it's hard—I also know it's just a goddamn excuse, something you can hide behind so you don't have to deal with the fact that you are hurting real people with all the shit you do. But you need to remember their are innocent people out there, people who can't defend themselves, because when the Cabals destroy California in their selfish quest to make your boss bleed, we both know who's going to get hurt. Innocent people. People better than you and I.

"You can stop that. Just tell me who you're working for. And if you can't do that, just tell me where she is. That's all. Tell us and you get to be something other than Nameless Mook #3."

His eyes fluttered shut. I hadn't screwed up the healing spell, he just needed a moment.

"Still haven't topped that time you convinced me I was going to kill a high school freshman. I killed you then, too. I felt bad about it, at the time, but I killed you then. I would have killed you now. Maybe you'll do better next time."

"She doesn't look that young," Bryce muttered above us. That was the part he chose to focus on?

"How many times have you killed me?"

"Not very often. We like taking turns. Thank you." The bruises had healed. "Can we start the torture now?"

Paige was shaking as she helped me up. Maybe she realized that he just wanted a little excitement, something to help him distinguish this wasted life from the last. How many times could you go through a time tear, anyway?

"You should go now," Bryce said to Paige, voice almost gentle. "You should all go. And Gillian, I need you lighter."

"We have to stay too," Sean protested. "You might..."

I could understand Sean's hesitancy. Bryce's reasons for helping Savannah would seem strange to anyone who hadn't seen him almost-but-not-quite pound her into the ground after he found she was completely responsible for his father's death. Sean was still being stupid; it's only when no one's watching that you can do things you didn't think you can. Or maybe it would be better for Bryce to have someone watching him—he seemed to like having a role to play.

Lucas interrupted the sibling stare down. "I should be the one who watches him."

"Lucas, that's not nece—"

"Cabal policy would insist that someone represent the alternative interests in this investigation." Add that to the fact that Sean was younger and Lucas felt a sort of responsible for Sean in a way he wouldn't about Bryce. "I'll stay."

"Lucas..." And I was so glad I was staring at the ground and not Paige's face right then, because I couldn't have handled it. I could barely handle the way she sounded, like a child who had just found out Santa Clause wasn't real. Why had she never understood his world was like this?

Bryce snapped his fingers in front of my face. Blocking out the discussion behind me—can you still call yourself a good guy if you keep crossing lines?—I fished out my lighter and handed it over.

"You know what you're doing?"

"Well enough." He had no fucking clue, not really. Watching and doing are two different things, especially since I didn't think he grandfather had ever let him stay for the whole messy thing. "How hard can it be to hurt a minion?"

"Could you not call say minion?"

"I have to be politically correct while torturing someone?"

"Bryce..."

"Could you not undermine my aura of menace in front of the minion, Gillian? I need him to realize I'm serious about this."

I knew I was just making this worse on him. And since I needed him to do it for me, I could suck it up a little bit. "You want extra cigarettes too?"

"That's the idea," he nodded. Passing them over, he caught me around the wrist. "You are not to come back in here, understand? Come back and I'm killing you myself."

"The death threats are getting old," I said, pulling myself free. "He wants to tell you, I think. Just be creative about this. It doesn't have to hurt too bad, it just has to be memorable."

"Maybe Lucas will have a few good ideas."

I rolled my eyes, as he motioned for Paulson to come help me walk out, while Paige and Lucas finished up their conversation. Sean tried to talk to his brother, but that wasn't working very well, since Bryce couldn't let himself pay attention. Sean eventually shuffled out after us witches.

Paulson put me down on the hood of the car and Paige sat down beside me. Paulson went to reload his weapon while Sean began to pace. Davis—Fitz had stayed in the barn—started scanning the perimeter. We tried not to look each other in the eye.

Paige explained what she and Lucas were doing at the farmhouse. They had been asking around the supernatural community, figuring that anybody with the power to make a legendary time tear would have made some waves. The supernatural gossip hadn't been that helpful. Most people were still talking about the murder of the Nast clairvoyant. But Jaime Vegas had mentioned that her Gran used to talk about this old farmhouse up in L.A. that had been known to host some pretty freaky stuff, once upon a time, and so they had come out to investigate, sure it would be a dead end.

"They knew you were coming," I said. "I wonder if they picked this place because of what it was, or just because they could ambush you here."

"It depends what they were trying to do with us. With Lucas," Paige amended, shivering.

That's why she was letting Bryce have his way. Because she owed the Nasts now, whether she could say the words out loud or not. Something very bad had been about to happen to Lucas, and she thought she wouldn't be able to help.

"The marks were Hebrew, I think." I showed her my arm. "These were the ones I could see. I've never seen a spell like that."

"I've been saying that a lot myself, lately."

So while the sorcerers did what they did best and ruined people's lives, us witches sat around talking magic, trying to decipher what the symbols might mean. It was Paige who brought up the idea that the markings would make Lucas a more powerful protective charm, once he was dead. I could accept that—the makeshift altar certainly supported the idea of a sacrifice—but neither of us could come with a possible recipient for the protective spell.

There had been no one around but us.

Or had whoever opened the time tear seen everything had gone wrong and simply not shown up? Was he still watching now, now that the demon was gone and there was only one employee left who might be eager to give up a name?

That's what the bodyguards were for.

"There's still a problem," Paige said finally.

"Which one?"

"The demon selected Lucas. They could have taken me, or they could have found another victim..." Paige shivered. "Why Lucas? There would be no faster way to antagonise the CEO of the most powerful Cabal."

"Maybe because there isn't a faster way to piss off Benecio Cortez. Whoever is doing this, he's already gone out of his way to annoy the Nasts. Killing Lucas might mean he's out to screw more than one Cabal over."

"No one is crazy enough to try and take on both Cabals. I mean...the time tear means it probably isn't a vampire."

"I know."

It was the only reason I hadn't lost it. Whoever was playing puppet master, they weren't going after all the Cabals. They weren't going after children. They went after Savannah, who was damned powerful, Bryce, who was damned important, and Lucas, who was both. If it was vengeance, it wasn't random vengeance. I could handle that.

It might have made me a better person if I couldn't, but I had other things to worry about.


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

* * *

Paige and I were trying to work out who would be dumb enough to want to take on not one, but two Cabals for the thousandth time when Paulson announced, "They're finished. They're just cleaning up."

Sure, it made more logical sense for Sean and Paige to go in, but would you really want someone you cared about to see you after you did something that, well, no one should ever do? I didn't think so.

Walking inside on my bum ankle wasn't pleasant, but I shook off Paulson's help. I didn't want to give Bryce the opportunity to take out his frustrations on his employee. No one tried to stop me, beyond a muted call from Paige. The first thing I saw when I reached the door was feet laying just out of sight, covered in blood. I could see Mr. Cortez pacing near the back. But it wasn't what I couldn't see that bothered me the most—it was the smell of burst flesh that lingered in the air. I was sick of that smell.

"I thought I told you to stay out there," Bryce said, pushing off from the wall beside the door and quickly standing in front of me. Preventing me from seeing what was beyond him. I wasn't about to look. Shrugging, I took the cigarette from his hand and stubbed it out. It took a valiant effort not to imagine what use he had put my cigarettes too. The smell was searing, disgusting. Thank goodness they had managed to muffle the screams. By magic or the old-fashioned way, I didn't care. "Is Lucas coming?"

"Since he's not a complete sociopath he's a little upset right now. In order not to worry his wife, I decided to give him a minute."

"Are you...?"

"I'm not sorry," he said defiantly. No one could do defiant like Bryce. "It was necessary."

"Bryce, I've almost died more times than I can count trying to help Savannah. You don't have to explain anything to me. I get it." I would have been there with him, if I had to.

"Yeah, but you're insane." He played with my hair, trying to distract himself from what he had done. And then because I was grateful he hadn't asked—I would have been in here too fast and there was already too little of me left to lose—I wrapped my arms around him and buried my head in his chest. "In case no one else says it...just so you know...thank you," I muttered.

"You really are an idiot, Gillian." But it hurt, how tightly he was holding me.

It was a new feeling, to be the one who wasn't breaking, to be the one who was doing the holding together. A new but not unpleasant feeling.

Footsteps came from behind him. I looked up to see a rather pale Mr. Cortez staring at us, so I pulled away, feeling embarrassed. There were important things to do, after all. I hadn't even asked:

"So what did you guys find out?"

They told me a name. It meant nothing. But when they repeated it to Sean and Paige when we all got outside, Sean turned white.

"Impossible," he declared.

"Are you sure?" Paige asked, just because he looked that freaked out.

Edmund Eisenberg. Even as they went around talking about what a crisis this was, how it was going to be an international incident if he really was involved, the Nasts also sort of believed it. The Eisenbergs had been loose cannons for a while.

"His wife is a necromancer," Sean pointed out. "She would have been able to help him open the time tear."

And after all, hadn't Leech been caught by Mariah Eisenberg in the garage? It could have simply because she didn't like Leech or it could have been merely a distraction, so that her husband could take Savannah out.

"They could have taken out the clairvoyant, too," Bryce said. "Neither one of them had any contact with Pierre up to that night, but Edmund would know which rooms we had told Pierre not to look into and no one sure as hell would have thought to have the Eisenbergs examined beforehand."

"They're that high up in your organization?"

"Edmund's family has worked for us since the sixteenth century. Mariah's for the last two hundred years. They're high up." Bryce may have believed it, but he didn't accept it. "There's no fucking way the two of them would go rogue, they've been with us too long."

"Maybe they didn't," Sean suggested. "Maybe they're acting on orders."

"Grandpa wouldn't do that."

Lucas gave a better reason than just blind loyalty. "Savannah is our ward. There's always the chance that I could bring in my father's Cabal. Thomas wouldn't risk a civil war and the carnage that would create just to kidnap her."

"Yes, he would. But he didn't. He would have brought me in on something like that."

"And the men from the time tear didn't seem that concerned with keeping you alive just now," I pointed out. "No way your grandfather would risk you." Not until he had reproduced.

"The demon seemed keen to keep Gillian alive just now," Paige observed.

"I was never there before," I said mindlessly, repeating Foras' last words to me, even as I thought back to the time tear, to the things I had seen. And back to Moloch and his belief that no one could truly control the time tear...did the Eisenberg's show me what I had seen, or were they less in control than they thought? Then again, the men of Twelve-Thirteen hadn't been scared to die. They hadn't been hopeless, but they hadn't been scared. How many times did you have to die before it became a relief? How many lives did you have to live before having cigarettes put out on your body became _fun_?

"They've always left us alive," Bryce admitted. "Fuck, they really did. They were too easy to lose. Even when I got shot—not that I noticed at the time, because some idiot didn't bother to get off me even though I was bleeding to death—"

"I panicked," I snapped. But my anger fled as I realized what he meant. "They had us pinned, didn't they?"

"Like rats. They knew we were in the general area. All they had to do was patiently start sweeping. It wouldn't have taken long for them to find us. And instead they clear out? No, they didn't want us dead. It still doesn't mean Grandpa's involved," he added quickly. "Hell, that they haven't targeted the witch means he's not involved."

Reassuring.

"What about when they tried to kill Gillian the first time? Did something change between then and when she met up with you?"

Lucas and Paige really were the perfect team. No sooner had Lucas asked the question, than Paige had sort of figured out the answer. "What did the sorcerer look like?"

I had been trying not to think about what had happened at the club since that night, but now I was back there, watching the arms being ripped off another human being. But before then...before when I was just flirting with Ryan, pretending that I wasn't worrying about Savannah, there was a sorcerer, with eyes that saw right through me. A sorcerer...and maybe it wasn't such a coincidence anymore.

"He was old, with a bit of white in his beard and dark, messy eyebrows. A bit tan, funny ears..."

"He's Lucas's age," Sean said.

"Curly hair," Bryce supplied.

Zachery.

"He saved my life," I muttered. Then I started to get angry. "He drove me home and told me to get out of town. I thought he was helping me and he set the demon on me? The fucking bastard. He said—I really am an idiot." I put my head in my hands, trying to stop being so incredibly angry. Why would they do something like that? I already had enough nightmares, thank you very much. "Asshole."

The demon attack had left me crazy desperate enough to go see Sean when Savannah asked me to. Since this had to be about the Nasts, I had yet another thing I could blame them for. For some reason, I was not excited.

"Do you two have any ideas why they would kidnap Savannah?" Paige asked the Nast brothers.

"Kidnapping Savannah doesn't even begin to make up for putting a bullet in me, killing the clairvoyant and opening a time tear without permission on Nast property." Bryce shrugged. "Maybe they just finally went off the deep end."

"He seemed sane enough," I said. Someone had to be helpful. "Rude and condescending, but sane."

"They haven't been sane since...that could be it," Sean mumbled. "They used to have son. The company was a little insensitive after he died and Mariah never really forgave us for it. You could tell."

"So they should have filed a complaint," Bryce interrupted. "It wasn't our fault the kid died, and it sure wasn't our fault Hollis is a freaking moron. They should have gotten over it."

"You don't just get over that kind of stuff!"

"Sorry. I forgot. Someone dies and you just go out and fuck the most inappropriate person you can find."

And for once, I don't think he was thinking about making a joke at my expense.

"You sound like Grandpa."

"One of us has to."

"And you two might want to continue this conversation in private," I finished.

Paige helped me out. "You think the son has something to do with it?"

When Sean nodded, Lucas addressed me: "What did you say Penelope Yi did?"

Well, I was clearly the idiot here. "I think I have the kid's death certificate. It was with the grimoires. That's why they need Savannah. If I needed to perform really powerful healing spells, she's the one I'd get."

"And screwing over Grandpa is just for fun?"

"If they asked politely, I'm sure they could get lots of people to volunteer," I said. I'd be first in line. "Minions occasionally get pissed when you treat them like pond scum everyday for years. That's what I've heard, anyways."

Lucas spoke up: "Where can we find them?"

"If Grandpa finds out about this...we'd be taking the Eisenbergs on over Savannah. He won't like that at all," Sean said.

"Actually, it might be better if we brought Grandpa in on this. We'd be able to push further if we have his backing."

"And how in the world could we get Grandpa to agree to investigate some of his most trusted employees so we could save the granddaughter he won't awknolwedge?"

Bryce didn't answer and Sean moved on, while I studiously tried to ignore the younger Nast. There was no way he was thinking what I thought he was thinking, and if he was I was going to stab him. Fake pregnancy never sounded like a good idea. Ever.

Maybe when it could help Savannah.

And wow, I was an idiot.

The group of them decided to start with the Eisenbergs home. If they were really lucky, maybe our new least favorite sorcerer and necromancer team would even be home. Weirder things had happened.

There was still the problem of what to do with me—being injured, I was just a liability at this point. Everyone offered to take me to a doctor, but it was clear they were all eager to do some non-murderous investigating. Finally, Paulson was ordered to stay with me while Bryce stayed with Sean's bodyguards. Grant would have protested but Bryce silently demanded I hold my tongue and it really didn't occur to Paulson that Thomas Nast would have all of us executed for agreeing to this. That Lucas didn't protest meant torturing people was not nearly as easy as the Cabals liked to pretend.

Paige performed one last spell on my foot to help with the pain while Sean gave Lucas directions to the Eisenbergs' house and Bryce gave Paulson a list of orders. Paige finished up. "There. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

"Have you been with Bryce long?"

What a question that was. She wanted to know why I was acting the way I was. She was asking me for an excuse. The trouble was I couldn't give her one. It wasn't his fault I was the way I was; it was actually Savannah's fault I finally had to show Paige more than she was able to handle. Once this was over, I was going to have to get used to the idea that she wouldn't be there for me anymore. But I couldn't deal with that now, so I just focused on her actual question.

"I've known him for a week."

Her face fell slightly. She couldn't blame him now. So she switched to the other thing that was bothering her. "If we're taking the visions from the time tear as really oblique warnings, I hope you're being careful."

"Don't worry, Paige. We're sticking to oral sex."

She didn't even crack a smile. Right—I was the little sister she could save to make up for not being there. I didn't get to make jokes like that.

"I'm going to go over Yi's grimoires more carefully. I'll call you if I find anything," I promised.

She nodded and Paulson picked me up and brought me to the driver's side. It was only when we sat down in Bryce's car that Paulson told me our destination. "Mr Nast wants me to take you to the necromancer's house. He says he'll call in Mrs Patel to look after you—she can fix your ankle and...Mr. Nast said she could fix...that is—she could fix you."

"What—oh." It made sense, there was even a sign from a future that birth control was very important. My ankle twitched again, reminding me that I was never going to get back on the team. But it would be worth it.

It was worth it. Lucas was still alive.

Now we just had to find Savannah.

* * *

When we arrived at Leech's house, Paulson climbed out of the car and came around to carry me out of the car without any sort of warning. But because Bryce wasn't around, I told him he could just give me his elbow.

He considered this for a long moment. "Grant would still carry you."

"Grant's also worked for Bryce for twenty years. Do you really want to be like Grant?"

Paulson walked me to the door, so I guess the answer was no. I was almost disappointed. I wanted to be like Grant—not the catering to Bryce's every whim part, but the self-assuredness that he had while doing so. Grant took pride in doing his job well. I wanted that sense of purpose.

After I knocked on the door, it took a moment for someone to answer—it was strange, actually, knocking on the front door, usually I just broke in—but it wasn't Leech who appeared.

"It's lovely to see you again, Gillian," Nadira said, pleasant smile firmly in place. "Put her in the living room, on the couch. I've set up my equipment over there. I'll be right with you, I just have to talk to Martin."

I could feel Paulson tense, upset to once again be in the traitor's house. That's why I told him he could stay out in the gazebo until I was finished. He agreed that was for the best. There was probably something wrong with me. Shouldn't I have been upset with Paulson for being so hateful towards Leech? But I didn't. We all had strange, irrational hatreds that we couldn't control. At least he was able to act professional most of the time. Hadn't I tried to call Thomas Nast a Nazi on his birthday?

Leech entered the room just as Paulson was leaving. I could hear the click of Nadira's shoes, but I couldn't see her behind the big man. He quickly began to speak.

"So I called Hollis," he explained. "And he's still looking into it. But he gave me a brief overview of the time tear legends. Once they're closed, minute effects tend to undo themselves, like Bryce's arm. But each time people encounter it, what it shows seems to differ. Sometimes it shows the idealized future, others a sort of nightmare version. Sometimes it's set in stone, other times its just possibilities—there were quite a few cases where the actions taken to prevent it made it occur. Sometimes nothing seen comes true. Sometimes it just shows the past, or present, or future. Sometimes—"

"So basically you don't know," I interrupted.

"Basically. All that stuff from the demon seems pretty true, how it gives you power over anything that passes through it. More stuff that you already know. Umm, though it seems that it it's a lot easier to close than it is to open. There haven't been that many recorded incidents of multiple uses of the same time tear, though. I looked and I couldn't find anything. The most I found was two, though I don't see why you couldn't just keep going through until you got the future you wanted."

He went through some potential ideas on how one might open a time tear, and how you would control it. I told him to start making lists, to see if the Cortezes could find some leads among the theories. We went back and forth as Nadira began to examine my ankle. It was all only theory of course. It wasn't like we could actually go out and test our ideas. Time tears were far too dangerous for that. But the possibilities were exciting—the power to play god always was.

"That's all I have," he finally admitted. "But—"

"Martin," Nadira said quietly, standing up. My ankle felt a lot better, though the bandages made it look twice the size as normal. She placed her hands on his arm, trying to will her calm into him. "It's not your fault."

He jerked away, but I still would have known that he didn't believe it. I don't think he had stopped researching since Bryce and I had taken off the night before. He was always blinking, trying to keep us in focus. It made sense he would blame himself for Savannah; not that I would have admitted as much, but a tiny part of me did, too. It was the same part that would have Tia's boyfriend forever wondering why he didn't wait those extra ten seconds to watch her close the door behind her. It wasn't fair, but that didn't mean it would go away.

But I had seen where that kind of guilt could lead to in Leech and it scared me. Even now that I knew that the good guy vibe he exuded hid deeds I wouldn't think about, I wouldn't stand by and let that happen.

I didn't stay silent. "She's right and Savannah would be the first to agree. She's a big girl, she didn't need you watching out for her. If someone took her out, it means they had to be pretty damn powerful and even if you'd been there it wouldn't have helped."

"Because I'm just a useless human," he muttered. The words Savannah had apologized for—too late—made me shiver and Nadira hurried over to make sure I was all right. I used her to help me stand up instead.

"Leech, I'm hurt and scared and just a little pissed off. You don't get to disagree with me. It's not your fault. And if you feel useless, find a way you can help. The research so far is good. Maybe you could call up Hollis again and ask for more information on Mariah. Or maybe you could start trying to find out for sure if you can use it as many times as you want. But only if you want to help. Don't do it because you feel guilty—because there's nothing to feel guilty for."

I don't think he believed me (I didn't believe me), but he tried to smile. "Hollis would know about Mariah than anyone else on the planet. I'll call him."

He hurried from the room and I sat down quickly. My leg still hurt and I was tired of this whole mess. Where was Savannah? Nadira quickly pushed my back down and got a blanket. "Bryce also mentioned I might be able to help you with some other health concerns."

I blushed a little. "It wouldn't be permanent, would it? Because I don't want it if it's permanent."

"It would have to be performed once a month to be safe. Long-term effects are non-existent. I can do it easily. Now if you want."

"That would be good."

Nadira rested her hand on my chest and closed her eyes, feeling the rhythms of my body. Her hand stayed there much longer than I had expected it to and I was more than a little surprised when she tucked my hair behind my ear and bent over, glancing behind her to make sure we're alone. I cast a privacy spell, because there was no way Paulson wasn't still listening.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"I...I'm not the best shaman out there. People think I'm an idiot. If I screwed this up, no one would blink. No one would think it wasn't an accident."

I _really _hated Cabals.

"Nadira? I think I might have a concussion. Could you check that out?"

"They'd give you anything to make you disappear. Anything you ever wanted. Just ask me to make a mistake and it can all be yours."

"Minus your ten percent cut, of course."

She actually looked affronted. It was the early twenty-first century, she was talking about trapping someone like it was something she did every Tuesday, and she looked insulted right now. "I don't want anything. Just..."

Ultimate cosmic power. I knew the drill.

"You'd just have to ask Bryce to do something for you. He won't listen to anyone else, but he's traditional enough that he'd listen to the mother of his child."

My eyes were threatening to roll out of my head. "He has the power to reinstate you?"

"No. Of course not. Gillian, I'm not offering you this because it will help me. You have to believe me. I just want to help. A little favour, for giving you everything. It would be a fair deal. All you would have to do is ask him to quit."

We sat in silence for a moment, as I waited for the punch line. Then I realized my life was the punch line.

"You could always just _tell_ him you don't think he should be working for his family."

"I _have._" Now I wasn't the only one rolling my eyes. "I have told him multiple times. In the two languages I know. He does not listen. He never listens—and not just because he doesn't know Hindi. But you could make him listen. It's been so long since he's been anything but bored that I think he'd listen if you asked him to quit."

"Even if I agreed—" And I wasn't going to. I liked to flirt with morally questionable actions, not actually commit to them. "—it's a dumb plan in general. If I make him quit, I get less money. And since money seems like the only reason I should agree to this, it doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Just make sure you get what you want before he quits. You'd only have to stay with him for a little while; then you just leave the child and take the settlement. I'd help him and he'd forget about you quickly enough and then finally...he could finally be happy."

Her amber eyes gazed up at me, so imploringly I almost blurted out my agreement anyway. In an utterly twisted, completely sick way, it was sort of kind of beautiful.

"No. I'll see what I can do," I found myself promising, just to stop the tears that were welling up in her eyes, "But it won't be that way. No children. But...I'll work on it."

"Thank you," she said. I think it was enough. "Shall I begin the procedure properly then?"

"If you don't mind."

I broke the privacy spell as she got up and went to gather the supplies she had laid out on the table. She began mixing something in a big bowl, glancing down at the ingredients carefully before she poured them in. She always did look like she was studying something. Maybe that's why I couldn't help but ask,

"So, how many times have you slept with Bryce?"

"Only twice. And two halves."

"Halves?"

"Half as in his roommate walked in and it just got too awkward. Half because we might have been drunk out of our minds, but even drunk, guys don't find it attractive when you're crying, no matter how much you throw yourself at them."

"He made you cry?"

She shook her head, but the smile dimmed a little. "I had been crying a lot then. It... it would have been a mistake. So we didn't make it. Both times we succeeded were in college. Once before the roommate walked in. And once before my wedding because we didn't think we'd ever have the chance again."

The smile dimmed a little bit more as she remembered she could very well have sex with whoever the hell she wanted. I wasn't good at the comforting people thing, but I reached over and touched her arm. She smiled a little awkwardly and sighed, hands on my belly.

"You know about my husband? Or just his age?"

"Bryce said you were soul mates anyway."

Nadira laughed, black hair dancing along her shoulders. "He would. That man is the only one who ever believed I was in love with the old coot and that was only because he privately suspects that my parents dropped me on my head as child and so I couldn't know better."

"You're a doctor. How dumb can he think you are?"

"I received my medical training in India. I'm not really a doctor." She caught the slightly awkward expression on my face. "I'm allowed to say that. You're just not allowed to agree. I wouldn't have become a doctor if I had stayed here, so I guess it was a good thing Papa wanted me at home before the wedding. He was very lucky, it was rather risky having me at home and then arranging my marriage. I could have made his life miserable if I hadn't approved."

She looked at me eagerly, waiting for me to ask her something. If she wanted to tell me her life story it was a small price to pay for all the help she was giving.

"Your father picked out your husband?"

"Oh no. My father and my husband arranged for me to marry his grandson." She grinned and I got why she and Bryce were friends. Because there was no embarrassment on her face. She had found what she wanted and she had managed to get it. Her only regret was that it hadn't lasted longer. "But I met Balan and we both knew that it was a mistake. We got married instead. My family was a little scandalized of course and Param—that was my fiancée—was a little upset, but I didn't care. Balan and I, we were..."

"Perfect for each other?"

Her hands on my stomach began to massage, trying to get me to relax. She undid the top of my jeans, rolled them down and began putting something sticky on my skin. It was disgusting. "No. There is no perfection, especially not in marriage. There are his faults and your faults and only the small hope that they can exist together. The two of us worked together beautifully because we happened to be exactly what each other wanted."

"Cold," I whimpered my belly began to freeze.

"That's what you want. Leave it like that for the next hour and you should be fine for the month. I climbed Mt. Everest, you know. For our second anniversary. He came with me, so we only made it part of the way up, but it was still the most romantic thing."

Nadira sat up suddenly, shaking her head. "You shouldn't let me do that. I'm liable to never stop." She fixed her hair nervously as she collected herself.

"Martin is rather too upset to bother with me, so I guess I have to take it out on you. I've very sorry, but it's so nice to meet...someone. I'll get you some tea. It'll warm you up."

She hurried from the room, leaving me alone, shivering on the couch. Even in my self-imposed exile form humanity, I don't think I had ever been that lonely. I always had Savannah and to a lesser extent, Paige. I closed my eyes and hoped the Cortezes had found her locked in a secret room at the Eisenberg's house, pissed that the rescue had taken so long.

* * *

I think I knew everything about Nadira by the time we had finished our two hour dinner. Leech didn't bother to hide how he would much rather be researching but Nadira effectively held him prisoner in the kitchen as she talked on and on. It was less annoying than it should have been. She was funny and charming and as we didn't talk about the dead husband she was always carefully composed.

It was her idea to call Bryce around ten. I had been wanting to, but I figured that he would have called if they had found her and anything else I wasn't that eager to hear. Plus, I didn't know his number.

Nadira did. She talked for a few minutes and then handed over the phone, eyes full of pity, warning me that Savannah hadn't been found. I took the phone and asked, "There's absolutely no news?"

"The house was deserted. It was a fucking tomb," Bryce complained.

"So what's the plan?"

"Because there is a multinational cooperation that has to be run, I have voluntarily relinquished my vacation time, allowing my brother to lead however many search and rescue attempts as he wishes."

"So you're running the company while he goes off and saves the day?"

"Assists the Cortezes in saving the day. My brother is good at the helping. The actual saving might be beyond him."

"But the Cortezes have a plan?"

"I think so. Not that they're telling me much at this point, but they keep writing these lists out, so I figure they must have some idea what they're doing. It doesn't matter. Tomorrow is my last day of helping and all they have me doing is driving them out to the Eisenberg's beach house."

"And me?"

"Paige has brought in a whole bunch of books. So has Sean. I volunteered you to go through them all, find a tracking spell or something."

"Thanks." I wasn't sure if I meant it or not, but at least I was doing something. My stomach was cramping like I couldn't believe, but Nadira said it was too be expected. She should have told me that before.

"I think I figured out why they had you shot," I said.

"Not just to piss off my grandfather?"

"Maybe. Maybe that's why you die later." It would be a quick way to get back at Thomas, as well as making the family desperate to protect all the heirs, even if one had the unfortunate distinction of having a witch for a mother. "But I think they shot you so you'd go to Nadira to fix you up."

"Dira? She—do you think they want me to get caught talking to her?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I just think she's the reason you were shot. Because they wanted to make sure the two of you were in touch." For all I knew she could have just amplified my fertility; being Bryce's friend just meant she could be as dangerous as she wanted to be. "She loves you, you know."

"I would have preferred if you sounded just a little bit jealous, but okay. Whatever you say."

But he knew. And he loved her back. So he would kill Keller for her and she'd try and leverage me against him, because they were family and they were supposed to have each other's backs. Even if being Cabal brats meant they could only show it in ways that were twisted beyond belief.

"It's incredible how your mommy issues make my mommy issues seem normal," I teased.

"Shut up, Gillian." He changed the subject. "I've rented a room down here, so I don't have to watch Leech feel guilty about breathing. And so my brother doesn't worry that I've snuck out in the middle of the night to sell him down the river."

"I'm sure Sean's not thinking about that."

Bryce snorted and said something that I couldn't hear. A voice answered. Grant, I think. Bryce chortled and turned back to me. "Anyway, you're welcome to stay here. I probably won't be around much—there's a fucking cot in my office that has my name on it—and it's probably the nicest hotel you'll ever be in."

"With you offering so politely, how can I refuse? Seriously, Bryce, if you want me to be your whore, just come out and ask."

"I want you downtown so that my brother's keeping an eye on you when I can't. And if I happened to get laid, so much the better. Seriously, Gillian, if you don't want me around, just say so. My offer doesn't have to come with strings if you don't want them. But you're not staying in the House of Gloom in the middle of nowhere with only Paulson for protection. That idiot couldn't stop a threat if it tied itself up in handcuffs first."

"You wouldn't have hired him if he was that bad."

"You wouldn't believe how fast Grant gets rid of his partners—there wasn't anyone else. That's not the point. You're moving in here tomorrow. The only question is whether I'm allowed to visit when you do."

The pain in my stomach lessened a little, though it still hurt enough to remind me that I was actively doing something for the express purpose of being able to sleep with Bryce. "Like that's even a question."

"With a welcome like that, how can I refuse?"

"Shut up." I rolled over. "Don't actually stay in your office, okay? That can't be healthy.

"Speaking of my office, I've arranged to have a meeting with the Board of Directors to explain this whole mess to them on Monday. The situation with the clairvoyant has them pretty busy, but they'll offer Nast resources when I mention the Cortezes are starting to mutter it was our fault. I need you to come with me."

"You asking me to walk into the Nast office and meet the entire anti-witch board of directors?" I demanded. "You're fucking crazy."

"I'll pick you up at eight thirty then?"

I knew he would be grinning and had to actively resist the urge to drive over there and hit him. "Why do I have to come?"

"The Cortezes are busy but we need someone to represent their interests. And Grandpa already doesn't like you. If I promise to ditch you, it might be enough to get him to agree to help with the investigation."

"You giving up on our love, Bryce?"

"Putting a price on it," he admitted. "You are an excellent bargaining tool."

"I really don't think I'm the tool in this partnership." I sighed and leaned back on the couch. "Bryce? What if that's not enough to get him to agree?"

"I..." This time he sighed. "We'd tell him your pregnant. In exchange for me not quitting and taking the future heir to the company with me, he helps Savannah. After we find her, we'll tell him you've miscarried. And when we don't see each other again, we can blame it on that."

"And this won't get me killed?"

"I'm sure I can protect you. Grant won't leave your side, even if it means leaving mine. I can get Alba to help, too, I think, which will make getting Grandpa to believe us easier. But, Gillian, this one's your call. It would be your neck so...think about it."

"Okay."

"Seriously. Gillian," it was now a warning. "Don't do what you usually do and go for the stupid option because you think it'll get you killed fastest. Try and think this over and figure out if you can handle this."

I was almost touched. Not to mention freaked out beyond belief because no matter how much he warned me, I was still going to end up agreeing because his plan was so damn crazy and I could never resist. So I panicked and tried to hit him where it hurt.

"That sounds rather sweet, Bryce. Poetic even."

"Shut up, Gillian."

"You should come over here and make me."

It was supposed to be teasing, and not that kind of teasing, but it came out more of a purr than anything. He made a sound, deep in his throat and I shivered; suddenly the conversation wasn't going where I had intended it to. And that was perfect.

"And how should I do that?"

I loved his voice, the way it could warm me up even over the phone. Unconsciously, my legs crossed, heat trapped between them. "I've got a couple of ideas. Want to hear them?"

He didn't answer, or at least, not the way I wanted him to. Someone said something in the background—I had forgotten about Grant, which was his purpose, but still—and then there were sounds of someone else entering. They were talking about quadrants and searching and all these technical things that I didn't know about, but could translate into meaning Savannah hadn't been found yet without an interpreter.

When Bryce spoke again, it was only to ask, "Do you want to talk to Paige?"

"Not really," I sighed. "I need you to tell me we're going to find her. I need to know—I have to find her, Bryce."

"We're going to find her," he promised.

It shouldn't have made me feel better. It was just another empty assurance in a life that had heard so many of them. But not everyone had that sort of confidence. My voice was only breaking a tiny bit when I asked,

"What happens if we don't?"

"Not an option. You know how I always get what I want, Gillian? I want to personally strangle my sister for all this crap she's putting me through. Ergo we will find her and she will be alive."

"You're horrible at comforting people," I informed him.

"Really? I thought that sounded pretty good."

"Nope."

"Shouldn't you give me a break, considering it was my first time?"

"Nope."

"I don't even get multiple syllables anymore?"

"Nope."

"God, your mouth is annoying."

"You like my mouth."

"A little bit," he admitted. "I have to go. Sean's coming. Make sure Leech doesn't kill himself, won't you?"

He tried to keep the request light, but he couldn't hide how serious he was.

"I'll try."

"We will find her, Gillian. I promise."

"Thank you," I whispered. "Good night."

He said good-bye. I held the phone for a long while after, willing it to ring, for him to call me back and tell me they had found her. It didn't happen.


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

* * *

I woke up covered by a blanket, but when I thanked Leech he just morosely told me that Paulson was going to take me to the hotel, so that I could continue researching without him. Nadira threatened to withhold food if he didn't stop with the self-pity, but I don't think it worked. He promised not to do anything too stupid and then Paulson brought me over to the hotel.

Paige and Lucas needed a place to stay and Sean had been eager to help where he could, even getting them a discount—he did live in the hotel, after all. The Cortezes had been planning to go back to Portland the second Thomas's party was over, but had now settled in so it looked like they would never leave. Paige had an entire library in her room and I eagerly got to work, making notes on anything remotely relevant. I also had Sean send someone over for the forgotten grimoires at my house, both Savannah's and Penelope Yi's.

Paige and Mr Cortez had also done some reading, so I was able to tackle the piles with a few notes beside me. The notes weren't that great, though, clearly written by people who were distracted. They were still the most impressive people I'd seen under pressure, don't get me wrong. But even in the few minutes where they welcomed me in and set me on their books, I could tell there was a desperation in their movements that wasn't usually there. Sure, they helped the hopeless all the time, but Savannah wasn't the usual client. They loved her too much to be able to be completely objective. But terrified out of their minds or not, they were still the best, suggesting ideas for some of the walls they suspected I would hit.

The only people I saw all day were Paulson and Fitz, Sean's bodyguard who had been left behind to man the phones. Grant, I was given to understand, had gone with Bryce. Paulson dropped off a key to a room down the hall during the day and I took it with only the faintest blush. Leaving me in Fitz's care, Paulson went to pick up my stuff from the variety of houses I had left it at to dispose in my new bedroom.

Fitz and I stayed out of each other's way as he answered the phone and I read big musty tombs. It wasn't long before I had traced the spell Foras had been attempting to an ancient ritual designed to bestow protection against violence for someone in a distant land. So the Eisenbergs had been counting on protection that hadn't come through. So sad. Now why they would want a protection spell was the question. Maybe for when Thomas Nast lost his shit.

After that, I looked into a spell that Paige had read a long time ago that might be able be able to bolster the connection between Savannah and me, allowing us to communicate. It made me aware of the fundamental difference between the Cortez and the Nast way of thinking. Bryce had been looking for who had taken Savannah—Paige was looking for Savannah. Both were assuming solving one would solve the other but they were going about it differently. Which way did I like better? Human sacrifice or human librarian? I just was grateful they let me stay.

The problem with most communication spells was that we needed Savannah to be able to cast them. And that just wasn't happening. But it gave me an idea...

If we could modify the spell, change it so that it would include a group, maybe Savannah could be included by default. There was something about a group spell in a book Savannah had once shown me, and after lunch Paulson returned with the grimoires.

There was a long distance healing spell, one designed to specifically center on the desired person. It might be adaptable, somehow. I had never tried changing a spell that powerful, but the change wasn't that drastic, so it might work. I was just changing the purpose of the spell. So we would be stuck using the people suggested by the healing spell, the closest—

"Are you all right, Gillian?" Paulson asked as he came to take out the lunch tray I had barely touched. The Cabals didn't want any humans poking around, which left the bodyguards playing maid.

I could only blink, then smile and hastily cover the page I had been reading. It was impossible, so I might as well move on. "I'm fine. Did they find anything yet?"

"Nothing. It sounds like it's been abandoned for a while. They're heading back now."

"Thank you," I muttered, my mind still on the spell. We needed family. Not the kind that Savannah had created for herself, either, a hodgepodge of powerful supernaturals that would die for her. We needed flesh and blood, the kinds of bonds that might not really exist, but that magic picked up on anyway. There was just a small problem.

Neither one of us had any.

I was sure the Nast brothers would help—Sean no matter what, Bryce once I explained—but I didn't think they could. The half part of the half-brother title might interfere. And I didn't think Savannah had anyone else, at least not with the same blood.

And as for me...my mother had died the second Dana walked out that door. She had died when she insisted Dana would come back, after she had her little bit of fun. She had died when the sorcerer came to our door and told her Dana needed us in Miami and she shut the door in his face. I had no mother, no father and no sister. I was alone.

Except for Savannah.

That had been Paige's plan from the start. She had never disguised the fact that she wanted the two of us to be sisters, to be as close as the bonds of magic could take us. But I had protested.

It couldn't be that simple. I had a sister once, who giggled and flipped her long hair over her shoulder when her boyfriend walked by. Dana couldn't do any magic. My sister couldn't be some dark haired, exotic-looking, power-hungry, grimoire-chasing, trash-talking witch who ripped her way into unknown dimensions.

I had a sister who had left me behind. I didn't want any more sisters.

But I needed Savannah back anyway. How was I going to do that?

Paulson held out the phone and I took it without thinking. "Hello?"

"Gillian?" Paige's voice cracked on the cell phone, the reception shaky. "Have you found anything?"

If I hesitated, it wasn't long enough for Paige to notice. "We need blood family members. There's this spell I think I can modify and we might be able to talk to her. The only problem is it requires family, and I don't think Sean will be good enough. This stuff works better if you use either the parents or the children, and since she doesn't have either..."

"Would Margaret Levine work?" Paige offered. "She's her great-aunt."

That wasn't ideal, but it could work. It was better to go up in the family tree, though that far up might prove difficult. Still, I knew about Paige's issues with her Coven and I knew then how selfish I was being. It was just...it didn't matter. I had to. "Maybe. And we'll need my mother."

Paige froze because she knew what that meant to me. "Are you sure?"

I nodded miserably. But my emotional trauma meant nothing at all with Savannah still missing. I forced the word from my mouth. "Yes."

"We can have someone try and bring her over from Georgia tonight. That should give us plenty of time."

All I seemed to be able to do was move my head up and down. And then I realized what I was doing. "No. Someone shows up from the Cortezes she'll slam the door in their face. I'll get Bryce to—" Oh god. It wasn't fair. What did I ever do to deserve showing her off? "—to, umm, yeah. The Nasts should pick her up."

"You sure Gillian?"

No. "Yes. You can't be the one to get her. Could you put Bryce on the line, please?"

She did as I asked. Why did she have to do that? Bryce came on a second later, completely nonchalant.

"Did you find something or are you half-hysterical? Because the witch would be better at handling that."

"I found something."

"Go ahead."

How did he manage to switch from callous jerk to alert businessman in the time it took me to breathe? It wasn't fair. But I explained the gist of my idea to him, and then asked a few questions about the rhythm of the spell. He didn't seem to like that.

"It'll be better to do this in person," he said. "There's too much static on this phone. If you want me to be that precise, we're going to need better reception."

"All right, but we should have it ready for tomorrow. Paige is bringing Margaret Levine in. I'm going to need you to send someone to bring my mother to California. The Cortezes would do it, but she wouldn't take work from them no matter what they offered. She's still back in Georgia, so you should get someone on that as soon as possible."

"You don't sound happy about this," Bryce commented. "I would have thought you would be getting off on more dangerous magic that is far out of your league."

"Just send someone to get my mother."

"Grant can—"

"Not Grant." I sat up on the bed quickly and almost sprained something. "Don't send him. Send—don't send anyone I know. Please, Bryce. Not anyone who I might ever have to talk to."

"Why not?" As he spoke, I tried to calm myself down, telling myself I was being stupid. Who cared what Nast employees thought of me? I cared. They were my people and if they looked down on me, there wasn't any place left for me to go. Bryce was demanding, "Why not, Gillian? I can't fix this if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"I just don't want them to meet her," I whispered. "She's not...she's just...I don't want them to think I'm anything like her...or that maybe she was right, that maybe if she hadn't had kids..."

Static came over the phone for an instant and I thought I had lost him. When it cleared up, Bryce announced: "Shut up, Gillian. If I wanted that kind of crap, I'd watch Dr. Phil. So she hates you? So what? We'll drag her over here and make her an offer she can't refuse."

"Give her anything she wants? Yeah, that'll make me feel better."

"You're going to make her help you help Savannah. And since she hates you, it'll just piss her off."

"She doesn't hate me." I didn't hate her. I never could, even when I did.

"I'll have one of Sean's men go pick her up. They're the most considerate, discrete guys in the company. They'll get her into town somehow. Do you want me to speak to her or should Paige go?"

"She won't talk to a Cortez. But I want to be there when you talk to her." There was no way I was letting Bryce meet my mother without me present.

"Fine."

I promised to keep researching and he said they were going to some places that friends of the Cortezes had mentioned and would be probably be back later. When I teased him about being a tour guide, he hung up. I turned back to the books.

* * *

The Cortezes came in around nine to find me still on their bed, a pile of handwritten notes beside me. There was still a few places that I was a little unsure, but for the most part I thought the spell would work. They had nothing to report, except that they were going out again soon, so I brought up something that had been bothering me since I had hung up with Bryce.

"It might be better if we used Thomas Nast for the spell."

Lucas blinked at me, probably the greatest sign of surprise he knew how to make. "That is not a feasible option, Gillian."

Bryce and I hadn't mentioned his (or would it be more accurate to say the time tears?) idea to anyone else. But even if we did manage to get Thomas to agree to not stop the investigation, I wasn't sure what we would have to promise to get him to sit down across from me again to actively help his granddaughter. So I said nothing to the Cortezes about Thomas or fake pregnancies, and just went over the ingredients I would need for the spell the next day. They promised to come through. Paige was already not looking forward to the conversation with Margaret, but she managed a smile. I didn't wait for them to change their minds, just told them Bryce had paid for a separate room for me and I would leave them alone. They were too tired to protest.

Grant was by the door, down the hall, which is how I knew that Bryce was already inside. I smiled at Grant and asked, "Don't you ever get charged for loitering?"

"Only once and the cop never worked in this city again," he said without a smile. "Should I be making plans to stay here tonight?"

"You're just as presumptuous as your boss, aren't you? Do you ever sleep, Grant?"

"The room next door has been fitted for us to sleep in. And Mr Leech has a cot in his attic."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine, Miss MacArthur. I believe I asked first."

"Go to sleep, Grant. You too, Paulson, wherever you are. I'm going to visit Nast headquarters tomorrow, so you're going to have to be on the top of your game."

Grant understood and disappeared inside to open the door. It was a lot easier than waiting for Bryce to get up and open the door. The room was just as bright as the hallway, but a little smaller than Paige's had been. Bryce was at the desk, on the hotel phone and staring at some papers. When I entered, he waved his cellphone at me and kept talking without missing a beat. I went over and picked up the cell. A hastily scrawled message was on the paper underneath: Call Leech.

I rolled my eyes at Bryce, who swatted me with the paper, to hurry me along. Not one to pass up such an opportunity, I sat down in one of the chairs and began looking through his contacts. I don't think I had met that many people my whole life. But to my surprise, most of them seemed to be men. Business partners, I assumed, or Sean wasn't the only brother hiding something... Bryce was still on the phone, so I was the only one amused by the joke. But at least he didn't have a whole list of old conquests. I don't think I would have handled that gracefully.

I was a little curious who the Great Satan was, but I didn't dare call the number to find out. For all I knew, he was being literal.

A quick search of Leech revealed the man's number and from there it didn't take long until I could hear ringing. He didn't have much to report. But I think it made him feel better to say everything so I let him. I had finished reassuring him, for the third time, when a loud snapping sound caught my attention. Glancing backwards, I saw Bryce gesturing for me to come over. "Hold on a second, his highness is calling."

Bryce was writing something, phone still pressed against his ear. "Basketball tickets?" I repeated. One good smack upside the head told him what I thought of the idea. Bryce didn't care. A tap on the paper reinforced his point and then he pulled me right onto his lap.

"My friend came through," Leech confirmed. "For Saturday. Tell him I'm not going if we haven't found Savannah by then."

"He's not going if we haven't found her by then." I shivered at the thought. She would go mental in that place if she was there over a week.

"I told you that's not possible," Bryce told the man on the phone. Meanwhile, proving the Cabal education made for the best multitaskers, he ran a hand up my leg.

"Bryce says thank you for the tickets. I have to go," I told Leech as a large hand moved to the inside of my thigh. "I'll talk to you soon."

The line went dead and I placed the cellphone on the desk and tried getting off of Bryce. It didn't work. His arm went around my waist and held me firmly in place. I could have struggled harder, I suppose, but I didn't want him damaged either. A moment later, he hung up and commenced kissing me.

"Wasn't I supposed to have a choice about whether you were here or not?" I teased as I turned to the side, for better access.

"I was only here to help you with the spell," he lied, hands running down my body to cup my ass. "But if you'd rather I didn't..."

He kissed me properly then and somehow managed to pick me right up without breaking it. Wrapping my arms around his neck for balance, I let him carry me to the bed. His lips were warm on my skin and goosebumps were quick to appear. But Savannah wasn't in the next room getting more and more annoyed at me. He let me roll us over.

"Spell then sex," I said, laying on top of him. I sealed my promise with a kiss.

"Sex then boring spell that we can do anytime?" he counter-offered.

"This has to be ready for tomorrow." Cabals used chartered planes. "I don't want to have everyone going to the trouble of dragging those witches here kicking and screaming only to have the spell flop. It has to work."

"As grateful as I am for the confidence, Gillian, even if I say I think it's going to work, doesn't mean it is."

"Like you would allow anything to defy you like that." I turned serious. "I just want you to check. Please?"

"Stop pouting. It makes you look five." But I didn't, not until he said, "Fine. We will look at your stupid spell. After."

I snorted. "There will be no after if you don't look at the spell."

"After we go downstairs," he corrected me. "I would have preferred to see you naked, but since that doesn't look like it's going to happen right now, I want to go downstairs. Lucas said something about their friends arriving tonight. I want to see them."

"What friends?"

"The werewolves."

* * *

It was rather obscene, the firepower Paige and Lucas had called in, even if it was necessary. Cabal employees were the best; we didn't have a hope of finding Savannah unless we had the best on our side too. I suspected they had called up every contact the interracial council had ever made. I just hadn't expected everyone to arrive so quickly. I guess that's what happened when you had friends and not just employees helping you out.

I was a little curious about why Bryce would care about the werewolves, but I was fangirlishly excited about seeing all the people I had heard Savannah talk about constantly in the past and so I didn't bother Bryce. I even let him pick our spot in the lobby, on a couch close to the front desk, but not close enough for the average person to hear us. I wasn't sure about werewolves.

Paige and Lucas were already down there, talking to an older woman with auburn hair who seemed rather unimpressed that she was standing in the lobby of one of the nicest hotels I had ever seen. Beside her was a golden god, with the nicest arms I had ever seen on a human being. Probably because he wasn't.

"I'm pretty sure those are the vampire delegates," I told my companion as he stretched out on the couch beside me. "Or maybe the guy's the shaman delegate. Savannah can never remember his name, but I've always wanted to see him."

"Kenneth. And that's not him."

"What?"

"His name is Kenneth," Bryce said stressing each syllable so I wouldn't miss it. "That's his name. But he sure as hell doesn't look like that. Now where the fuck are the werewolves?"

"How do you know that?"

Bryce rolled his eyes the way only a Cabal son can. That's how he knew...he could know everything if he so much as lifted a finger to find out. Then he gave me half a smile. "Alba met him once. Tried to...anyway, he fell asleep during her sales pitch. She's been half in love with him since."

"Shamans are weird."

"I grew up with 'Dira. You don't have to tell me." He sat up as a car pulled up and Adam Vasic climbed out of the back seat. "Is that them?"

"Must be." Someone had to have picked them up from the airport and I don't think Adam had done anything useful since joining up. "Bryce, why do you care? I mean, I'm interested because I'm thinking the werewolves will be a parade of salty goodness, but I doubt that's your interest."

"Strangely enough, no, it isn't. I just want to see them. Werewolves don't work for us, at least not Pack werewolves. I just...werewolves are cool."

He blushed, just a little, but I caught it. Trying not to giggle, I said, "I always preferred vampires, myself."

"They're so boring," he complained. "All they do is drink blood and look cool. Now, wolves—is that them?"

"Yup. The two blondes are Elena and Clay, beta wolves. They're awesome, according to Savannah. He's a little bit of psycho, from what I've heard. And she's married to him, so make what you will of that. The rest must have come in another car."

"They look a bit like..."

"Barbie and Ken?"

"Yeah," Bryce said, failing to keep the disappointment out of his voice. No wonder he lashed out. "I wonder how long that hair takes him to do."

"Be nice. Just because you're intimidated by him..."

"Please. Do you know how many psychos I know? Or am related to? You met Kane—he makes some of the others seem considerate."

"I meant because he's prettier than you."

And he was. Clayton Danvers—pack psychopath—looked like those statues the Romans stole from the Greeks because they were so gosh darn pretty. If the pretty-boy Greeks had been carrying two children. In his arms were the werewolf twins Savannah sometimes babysat, Logan and Kate. She thought Logan was an evil genius, waiting for his moment, and therefore totally awesome. Kate's energy tended to give Savannah a run for her money, and Savannah wasn't exactly fond of challengers, which is why I think she liked Kate best. Not that I told Bryce this. Twins, adorable or not, were not his concern.

Making fun of me was.

"You want to play step-mommy, Gillian?"

"Thankfully my Daddy issues do not have me chasing after actual daddies." Then, to make Bryce feel better (not that his ego needed it) I added, "Besides, he looks a little worn. I prefer non-wrinkled cradle robbers."

"Wrinkled or not, dude's still kind of beautiful."

The family was standing at the hotel desk, talking to Paige and Lucas, discussing accommodations. Thank goodness they were not paying attention to us.

"You should get Paige to introduce you."

"So is my Lamborghini," Bryce snapped. "It doesn't mean I want to fuck it, Gillian. And I especially don't want to talk to it."

"You just can't wait to get in it."

"I'm ignoring you," he announced. But his silence didn't last for more than a second. Another car must have pulled up, because a whole slew of people were coming in through the front door. "That's the Alpha. Right? The one with Jaime Vegas?"

Jaime Vegas had the distinction of being not only a powerful necromancer, but also one with the occasional television appearance. The Cabals kept tabs on her and everyone knew it, since she essentially went on television and announced her powers to humans. Not like she used them for her show. Savannah dragged me to one, once. They were more of the prey on the stupid and sentimental type than anything else. That's why the Cabals had left her alone. Now they left her alone because she was dating the leader of the North American Pack.

The werewolves had existed in a parallel world to the rest of us for a long time. Too ferocious for the discretion the Cabals required, the Pack had been ignored, at least, until recently. The interracial council had brought them in—and privately I suspected the Cabals were just waiting for them to be forced to deal with the eventual mess. Werewolves weren't like the rest of us. They couldn't pass, not convincingly, not for long. What purpose did it serve to train and tame a wild stallion when there was a donkey out back ready to work? Especially if the stallion had claws and teeth and the tendency to rip you to shreds? Better to stick with the half-demons and the necromancers...the species the sorcerers could dominate with certainty.

That Sean materialized out of nowhere to meet the werewolf Alpha, and that Bryce looked a little torn about whether he should do the same, probably said a lot about the man. My description to Bryce was slightly below the occasion.

"His name is Jeremy and he lives in New York. He taught Savannah a lot about what she knows about art. He does pretty well selling those pictures of wolves in cities or forests or wherever."

"Grandpa's got two. I should tell him the artist helped Savannah, see what he does." Since that was far too much of a coincidence, I had to glare at Bryce until he explained. "Grandpa likes art. And sucking up."

Now that I could believe.

"What about the two guys behind him?" he asked. "Brothers?"

"Father and son. The Sorrentinos. Sixteen years apart. Savannah used to warn me, that's what would happen if I wasn't careful. I'd have a daughter everyone would think was my sister."

Just like my mother.

"Nah. You're way too small. Wrinkles would show up on you pretty quick."

"Geez, Bryce. Thanks."

He ignored me. "Older one still looks like you might not want to pick a fight with him."

"Antonio's supposed to be tough. His Dad was Alpha, back when they did it by force, so he's got good genes."

"He gave it up, huh?" There was such a queerly speculative note in his voice that I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Everyone wants to take out the Alpha. Makes more sense to be the backup."

He snorted. "Backup has to take the bullets. They're all like Grant. They haven't stopped surrounding the Alpha, or his girlfriend, since they showed up. You attack the Alpha, that's the last thing you ever do. And he gave that up...he had to, the Alpha's too small to take it from him...That sucks—you can't buy off a guy like that."

"Careful, Bryce. You almost sounded respectful, there."

"Then I better make fun of his kid and re-establish the balance in the universe. He has stupid hair."

I giggled, harder when I saw the younger werewolves behind Nick point to his head. They weren't involved in the room discussions and I guess and nothing better to do than eavesdrop on the conversation.

"That's Reese and the shorter one's Noah. They're new. Savannah didn't know much about them—I don't think she's ever met them. She couldn't have." With his beach blonde hair, fading tan and bland handsomeness, he was just Savannah's type. She would have mentioned Reese to me if she'd seen him.

"Is there a reason they look like they just stumbled out of 'Dude, where's my car?' or is that just an Omega thing?"

"I don't think they use wolf terminology. And be nice or I won't tell you about the last one."

"Like I care about the guy wearing more expensive clothes than me. Tell me about the midget with him instead."

"The werewolf is Karl Marsden," I said, ignoring him. "Jewel thief, killer and all around immoral scum. And he clearly likes them significantly younger. The two of you have a lot in common." When he didn't respond, I continued. "The woman with his is...Faith, Hope or Charity. Something dumb like that. She's—"

"Sean told me about her."

It was a threat, pure and simple. The girlfriend was an Expisco, a half-demon type that was a Cabal goldmine. Having them know about her was not good news for her, and her boyfriend knew it. His arm was around her waist now, reassuring them both she wouldn't end up sucked in and spit out of the Cabal machine. Optimistic idiots.

"Grandpa used to know someone like her. Let me meet him, at the end." The unpleasant smile on his face made me sick. "It gave me nightmare and I was old enough to know better by then. She's cuter than the corpse was though. If you like them brown."

"Does your family know something I don't? Because the last I checked Marsten was Pack. Which means it's not a good idea to actively piss him off."

"I can say whatever I want about Cortez employees. Did Savannah tell you that about him? We owe him, and the girl. They fucked us over once and Grandpa doesn't forget." So that's the reason we had been on werewolf surveillance duty. "I was hoping they wouldn't bring him. Grandpa is not going to like this. Cortezes on one side, the interracial council stacked with Cortez toadies on the other. Do you know what I'm going to have to do to get him to be okay with that?"

"What we're going to have to do," I said quietly.

For a second he just stared at me; he helped me to my feet almost gently. "Yeah. Tomorrow's going to be fun."

We were in the elevator going upstairs before he actually explained what was bothering him.

"I've always hated the interracial council. Besides the whole idealism thing, which bugs me on principal, they just love themselves some interracial dating. Heaven forbid people stick with their own kind."

"I thought your grandfather was the Nazi, not you."

But for once he wasn't in the mood to have me besmirching his character. Bryce was serious.

"How can a werewolf have any idea how to deal with an Expisco? It's like dating a crack addict, one that no amount of rehab can cure. It would be like dating you, if all the crazy shit you do to yourself was directed at other people. All she's ever going to be capable of doing is chasing that next high—which means she's going to need dead bodies on the ground, one day. She's going to die strung out and there's now way he can handle it. The same way she can't handle what happens to him once a week, when his body isn't his, when he's the freak at the circus. Bet you he's never let her see him that way, stuck in between, victim of his own genes. No number of Armani suits would help him then. And the necro..."

It was a slight inflection, nothing more. His tone was already ugly, his body already tense, but as soon as he mentioned Jaime Vegas the smallest hint of pity entered his voice. This was his real objection, or as close to real as Bryce would let himself get in front of another person.

"If she's as powerful as they say, she's got one, maybe one and half, decades. Tops. And then she's going to be screaming things as they slowly convince her it would be worth any price, if only they would shut up for a goddamn moment. The necros can't help other necros. Even Hollis couldn't—what the hell is a werewolf going to do?"

That some things were beyond his control was a fact that Bryce could, perhaps, acknowledge on an intellectual level. Not for a second did I think he truly believed it. There was no way he could understand how people could accept that they were powerless. Religion perverted was the closest he could come. But I didn't bring that up.

"So you can only date sorcerers? Really, Bryce, if you want to justify those homosexual urges of yours, there are easier ways."

"Shut up, Gillian." But it got a smile out of him and that's all I had wanted. "You can't seriously think Lucas and Paige should be together. Separately, they're insane—who wants to help people that much? Together? It's just not natural."

"Just because you think sorcerers and witches don't belong together does not mean I'm letting you get away with not helping me with the spell."

His face fell, but he let me take his hand and drag him back to the room. And once we got the spell as close to perfect as we could, I showed him exactly how compatible witches and sorcerers could be.


	33. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

* * *

The phone was much too loud I thought, but at least it was quick to stop. It was only when I heard someone mutter my name that I bothered to open my eyes. A hand brushed against my spine, gently reminding me that I had to get up. I just tried to pull the covers higher.

"Do you really want to keep my grandfather waiting just so you can sleep in?" Bryce asked, placing a kiss on my bare shoulder.

"I hate you," I muttered, as I turned over to lie on my back. Bryce was on his side, watching me, and I stuck out my tongue for good measure.

"Like I've never heard that before," he said with a smile, before climbing out of bed. Even in the semi-darkness, he looked good. It made me think missing the meeting would be all right for reasons other than sleep.

"Stop it, Gillian."

"Stop what?" I asked innocently, dropping my gaze and looking around for a shirt or something, so I could get out of bed with some dignity.

He handed me a shirt and then headed to the shower. I couldn't help noticing he had brought plenty of clothes over—like he had ever planned to stay elsewhere. Still, I wasn't going to complain that much. Sure, he hogged the bed, but if you went according to proportion instead of just dividing it down the middle, he left me more than my fair share. Plus, the bed was huge. Bigger than anything I had ever been in before.

Right before he disappeared inside the bathroom, he called out: "Any day now, Gillian."

I flipped off the empty doorway, shrugged on his shirt and climbed out of bed. I could get dressed for this terrible, awful day (making myself Thomas Nast's public enemy #1 and seeing my mother all in the same twenty-four hours—joy). Or I could explore the sinfully gigantic bathroom one more time.

I joined Bryce in the shower.

* * *

We weren't even late getting down. I could have sworn we were behind schedule, but we made it down to the lobby with five minutes to spare. I swear Bryce used dark magic, or something.

Grant and Paulson were flanking us, making me feel shorter than I've ever felt in my life. There was a plain black car was waiting outside. Paulson opened the door and let me pass. Bryce was barely in the back seat before he was talking on his phone. Again.

I spent most of the ride there sitting as he ordered various people around, called Sean, yelled at some hapless minion—the usual stuff. It gave me time to go over the spell I would perform later that day. If my mother actually came, I couldn't afford to have it not work. The suggestions Bryce had made seemed to make sense, but like he had said, the only way to know for sure would be to test it. And the only way to test it was to perform in front of a woman I had sworn never to talk to again.

Fortunately, that was the only nightmare I had last night. That and bad food; I didn't mind too much since it let me know Savannah was alive.

Bryce eventually got off the phone, but it was only to give bad me news. My mother was in town—he didn't mention whether there had been a problem bringing her over, so I just assumed there had been and tried to ignore it. She was waiting back at the hotel—the Nasts were paying, but she was on a different floor from the rest of us.

This time when we got to the Nast building, Bryce led me through the front door. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Sure, people liked to gossip about the boss and everyone was a little surprised at seeing a witch walking around the premise, but no one stared too obviously. No one seemed to care all that much, which made me immensely grateful. If people were staring, it wasn't at me.

Everyone gave Bryce a wide berth as he walked through the halls. There was nothing like being the boss to mark you and Cabal bosses were the worst of all. There was no way a board of directors comprised up of ones closest relatives was ever going to issue a reprimand. No matter what. Even as a witch tagged a long after him, Bryce was untouchable. Everyone knew it. And it scared the shit out of a lot of people.

"Good morning, Bryce," his secretary said. He had a full suite of offices—manned full time—on the West Coast even though he was never there. "Pete Russ from H.R. called. He said it's urgent. And Alba said to tell you her eight o'clock is going to run long, so you're going to have to wait a bit."

That was annoying, but we couldn't exactly argue. Bryce wanted Alba on his side before the board meeting, so he could talk to his grandfather after knowing she would go along with him. "Thank you, Sherri. Have you been busy lately?"

As the two of them made small talk, I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed. Bryce had not slept with his secretary, even if her name was Sherri. She was way too old for him. I didn't mean old in the way people sometimes do when they're exaggerating to make a point. Sherri had to be at least sixty, at the very, very, very generous minimum. I would have actually pegged her around seventy myself, but I sucked at guessing people's ages. Needless to say, the dumpy, grandmother-like woman was not his secretary so he could fulfill his more carnal fantasies. The woman had pictures of her family lined up around her desk—her when she was younger with an arm around an equally attractive women who must have been her sister, to her surrounded by grandchildren and children as they all crowded around a menorah. I bet she gave bear hugs and kissed booboos better.

Even with the white hair, there was no denying she had been pretty once a upon a time. It clung to her still, in the curve of her smile, a flash in her eyes, just hints at what once had been. That's how I tried to explain why Bryce was being so...kind towards her, but even in my own head, it seemed a weak excuse. But there was no denying he was trying to please her, even as they joked around.

It was making me kind of nauseous. Fortunately, they finished up with the gossip and she moved on to chide him gently: "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing, really."

"I heard you gave your Grandfather quite a surprise on his birthday."

"Have to make sure he was paying attention."

"Bryce," Sherri used a tone of voice that meant _he_ better be paying attention, "Your Grandfather pays more attention than you think."

"Sure. Send word when Alba's done, okay?"

She nodded and he led me to the doorway behind her. As I walked past, she touched the bowl of candy on her desk, offering me one. I couldn't believe it—but at the same time, a friendly gesture wasn't something I could ignore. I took a lollipop with a small thank you and she smiled happily.

Bryce's office was exactly what you would expect for a Cabal son. What did it matter his home was on the other side of the country and this room sat empty for most of the year? The view was spectacular, the desk most have cost as much as my tuition and the whole place might have been bigger than some of the homes I had lived in over the years. Sometimes, I really hated Bryce.

He took a seat in the real leather desk chair while I opened my lollipop. Bryce may have been staring, but the candy was orange. I loved oranges.

"She's your secretary," I defended myself. "You don't like it, yell at her."

There were other chairs in the room, but it would have made me feel too much like a kid in the principal's office to face him across from the desk. So I walked around and perched on top of the desk itself, sucking on my candy.

"I could never yell at that woman. She's a saint."

Bryce was no saint. His fingertips were slowly running up my stocking-clad legs, as he scooted the chair closer. "Is that why you hired her? Or did someone complain about all the empty space?"

"Officially, she forwards messages to my office and makes sure I'm up on all the West Coast gossip. She's extremely useful in that capacity. She looks so sweet that everyone tells her everything and however old she might be, she's never forgotten a piece of news in her life."

"Officially? What about unofficially?"

"She's been with the company a long time...a long, long time. In fact, Sherri was once Grandpa's secretary... back when she was pretty and Grandpa was a lot younger." He smirked at me. "He still keeps an eye on her, always asks me how she's doing. I know this is my Grandpa we're talking about and he doesn't give a shit about anyone... but she took two weeks off after Dad died and only came back the day he did."

"If this wasn't Thomas Nast we were talking about, I'd think it was cute."

His face turned serious. "It's less cute when you remember he ignored my grandmother to death. And if he did love Sherri he was willing to give her up because she was a shaman and therefore not suitable."

"Do you have work to do?" I asked, eager to change the subject. "I can move."

"It's technically still my vacation. And Russ is an idiot."

"You're not going to call him back?"

"I don't think I'm going to get around to it."

With that he shifted the chair forward so he was right between my legs. I took the lollipop out of my mouth and kissed him slowly, letting him taste the artificial sugar. Licking my lips, I pulled back. It was sort of fun being the one who had to stoop.

"You should have got your own," I teased, putting the lollipop back in my mouth.

He laughed, so I let him take out the sucker and throw it out.

"I really liked that. You better make it up to me."

"And how do you suggest I do that?" he asked, his fingers already undoing the buttons on my blouse. It was disconcerting how quickly he could do it, considering he couldn't see a thing. His lips captured mine, even as a warm hand gently crept along my ribs. When it reached my breast, he broke the kiss and asked, grinning widely, "Are you wearing a bra?"

"It has been known to happen," I told him, rolling my eyes. Bryce just laughed and tried to kiss me again. I pouted instead, turning my head this way and that, so he was forced to kiss my jaw instead.

It just gave him ideas. Not seeming to care that Alba was soon going to announce she wanted to see him, he began slowly kissing his way down my neck, hands gently rubbing my back, until I relaxed for the first time since I walked into Evil's Head Office.

His fingers were playing with the thin lace fabric on my chest, teasing until I wished I hadn't bothered to wear it in the first place, even if I could run into Thomas Nast at any moment. A small moan escaped me, though for once I tried to be quiet, not sure how well this usually abandoned office was soundproofed. Then I tightened my legs, trying to pull him closer, fingers tangling in his hair so I could force his head up and force our lips together once more.

All the nightmares faded away, finally, as I lost myself in the here and now. My body, at least, could always be counted on. There was no thinking and no more lies, just feelings that I didn't need to bother to fake.

When he pulled away the cold air hit my exposed chest, making me shiver, but I couldn't help smiling as I watched Bryce walk over to the door, where he locked it. So that's why they paid him the big bucks—he knew how to cover his ass.

Standing by the edge of the desk, his hands ran up my legs, until they finally reached the bare flesh on the tops of my stockings. He couldn't seem to get enough of the soft skin, caressing even as he pulled my legs apart. The cool air helped ease the ache between them.

I began shimming backwards, pulling papers with me. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. But he took off his blazer and draped it casually over the chair he had just vacated. When I was properly on the desk, I leaned forward between my bent legs and grabbed his tie. I gave it a firm tug.

"Come here."

He did as he was told, easily placing one knee on the desk and lifting himself up. One sharp pull on his tie and he descended downwards, landing firmly on top of me, nestled between my knees.

"You're going to strangle me," he complained before he got to work blazing a trail from my lips to my breasts and back again. Because I didn't want him dead—that would be a lousy thing to wish on another human being—I forced my fingers to undo the tie, nimbly pulling it off.

I brought my hips flush with his and was rewarded with a pained groan. His belt buckle was surprisingly easy to undo, but I wasn't as talented as he was. I couldn't seem to get his pants off with my hands trembling the way they were.

So I did the only thing I could do, the most natural thing in the world. I arched up, rubbing right against him, again and again until his eyes were burning into mine. He dragged me further up the desk—I was pressing myself so tightly against him he doesn't have to do much to bring me with him—knocking in-trays and staplers and a hundred other useless tools onto the floor. Eventually my head hit the wall, but it wasn't painful and he was on the desk fully.

"Your family really is overcompensating with the furniture," I moaned as he tugged my skirt upwards. But seriously—Bryce was over six feet and he fit easily on top of this wooden monstrosity.

"Do you ever shut up?" he demanded, hair sticking up every which way. My bad.

"No," I promised as I kissed him, unbuttoning the buttons on his dress shirt, until there was enough exposed skin for my liking. My skirt was already bunched immodestly around my hips and it wasn't fair that I was half-undressed and all he had lost was the tie. Using my arms around his neck for support, I pressed against his chest, loving the warmth that seemed to emanate from him.

Bryce growled and asked, "Anyway I can get you to take that thing off?"

I pushed him upwards, to give me room to manoeuvre. Leaning my weight on my shoulders, I unhooked the back of the bra through my shirt and then the hooks at the front that held the straps on. A little shimmy and a little tug and I could drop it to the floor.

"I was sort of hoping the shirt would go too," he complained.

"I can actually completely change in a hallway full of people and not show off an inch of skin," I informed him. That's what years of sports could do for someone with body issues. "And my shirt will come off when yours does."

He leaned up and brushed the blouse open further, so that it framed my exposed breasts. "Nah. The view's growing on me."

"Shut up," I laughed, but he was already busy showing his appreciation, so I just closed my eyes and enjoyed how damn good he could make me feel. It was even better than orange candy. It was the same sort of high I got from throwing myself off buildings, only this time I knew I wasn't gong to die in the attempt. I was safe.

His hand moved between my legs. "I love how wet you get for me," he whispered as his fingers slipped inside me. I could only whimper in response, bitchy comment ignored in favour of clinging desperately to him.

But the higher he brought me, the angrier I got. Was that our problem? "Bryce...I don't want your stupid fingers. I want you."

It came out a little needier than I meant it too, but all he did was laugh, before sucking on my ear and hitting something inside me so perfectly that I arched right off the desk. "Say please, Gillian."

"Bite me," I managed through my breathlessness.

He kissed me one last time. "Close enough."

Then _finally _he was inside me as I whimpered, toes curling tightly as I held him to me. He began to move above me, slow, torturous thrusts and I braced my hands against the wall as I moved to meet him time and time again. My arms managed to brace my head a little bit, though not perfectly—he was just too much bigger than me, moving my whole body when his hips slammed against mine.

His eyes watched me, burned into me, really, as I came apart underneath him, shaking like I really was the breakable little girl I didn't want to be. I brought him with me, the two of us in some bizarre world where we actually made sense for just a little while.

And then it was over, and I was lying on a desk in Nast Headquarters with a sorcerer on top of me trying not to worry about Savannah.

Bryce's laughter brought me back to the present.

"What?" I asked, too calm to be snarky.

There was that smirk and he told me: "I'm never going to be able to work in this room again. You've ruined it."

"Little old me?"

It only made him laugh harder. "How I am ever supposed to concentrate in here ever again? I'll only be able to remember you like this."

"You're amazing when you put your mind to something," I told him frankly. "Terrifying, but amazing."

"Was that a compliment, Gillian?"

"Never," I promised.

But I couldn't help smiling.

"Think we were quiet enough?" he asked as he pulled away and we set about the odious task of being responsible. Cleaning up sucked.

"We'll know when we leave."

He chuckled leaned over to kiss me. "You're not funny Gillian."

"Aww, but you still think I'm cute."

He gazed down at me, eyes lingering on my exposed chest. "Not really the word I was thinking of."

It was only because he turned away to pick up his stapler that I was able to drag myself back to the task at hand. It wasn't fair. He should not be allowed to look at me like that.

I struggled to get my skirt down, while smoothing out the wrinkles. To prove some bizarre point I put on my bra without taking off my shirt. Sure it was a lot more effort and he had already seen everything, but it was fun. And it took longer. Because there was something I sort of should ask him before I let this get any more complicated, but I was sort of scared of the answer.

"Bryce?" I asked finally. "Do you actually like me?"

He rolled his eyes and did up his belt. "What brought this on?"

"I don't know," I said, as I primly buttoned up my shirt. "It's just...well, you treat Sean like crap and you love him. And you're going to lie like hell to your grandfather and you love him. So...I don't know. I was just wondering."

"Do you really think I treat you like crap?"

The word came up before I could stop it. "No. Not that you treat me great, or anything."

"You don't treat me any better," he said, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me to him. I did up his tie, but only because I seemed to be stuck with him. "But, sure. Yeah, I do. I actually like you."

He tried to kiss me, but I pulled back.

"Be serious."

"I'm not the compulsive liar."

"But I'm such a bitch to you all the time. The only time we ever agree is when we're talking about sex. You think I'm annoying and overly emotional. And it is disgusting how I can't keep food down properly. I'm a complete and utter mess—"

"Gillian, I'm not an idiot. If I wanted a complete alphabetical list of everything that's wrong with you I'm more than perfectly capable of making it myself." This time when he tried to kiss me, I let him, though I didn't respond. "Stop acting like we're talking about something terrible here."

"I'm not acting. The last time we even remotely broached this subject you almost bit my head off. And now you're acting like it's no big deal. Can't you understand why I might be a little confused here?"

"They were different issues." I pulled his tie a little too tight but he kept going. "I know what my boundaries are and even if I forgot—which, you're beautiful but I'm not suicidal—it's practically a universally acknowledged fact that I would be less bothersome if I occasionally got my heart broken."

I kissed him back this time, tentatively, mulling over what he was saying. "You think I'm beautiful?"

I hadn't been pretty since I had gotten kicked off the team and had half of my muscle turned to fat.

He rolled his eyes. "Objectively? You know you are—you're just ten feet too short. And that's growing on me. But if you get in over your head, I will have both the she-devil and my brother coming after me with pitchforks and I really can't afford that. Plus, no offense, but I don't think either of us would survive you going crazy ex-girlfriend on me."

"I'd totally ruin you."

He laughed and then kissed me again, distracting us both in the best possible way. Of course, we then had to pick up most of the useless junk that we had knocked to the floor.

"Am I going to have to do anything at this meeting?" I asked.

"You don't really have to come," he admitted. "I just wanted to show you the office. Sean can make sure we take the Cortezes into account—Grandpa won't like that, but he'll survive."

"Oh."

"But it might make Grandpa agree to help if only to get me to ditch you. That would be the best case scenario, so..."

"Chances are it won't work."

"That's where Alba comes in. If she agrees to help, I'll call her in to support me and she'll let it slip that you aren't just the love of my life anymore. You're the future of Nast Enterprises."

"How do you not choke on all that bullshit?"

"Practice."

"You're not that good of a liar, Bryce. You won't be able to fake surprise well enough."

"Maybe not well enough to fool you, but Grandpa...he trusts me. He'll believe—" His voice choked. "Why the hell am I doing this, again?"

"Your father would want you to. Your sister needs you to. Your grandfather shouldn't have created a situation where this stupid plan of yours could actually work. So...yeah."

He kissed me again, slowly, long enough that I could convince myself it was going to be okay. It was easy enough to ignore how his fingers were digging into my arms.

The knock startled both of us, but it was left to me to unlock the door. If I waited for Bryce to get it, Sherri would think we were in the middle of doing...well, what we had been doing. I discretely moved his in-tray back into place as I walk towards the door.

Sherri smiled like I was a good girl and then announced, "Sean came by earlier. I thought you would be busy and he said he'd see you in the boardroom. Alba is finished now, you can go see her."

I glanced up at him and tried not to shake. "So this is it?"

He tucked my hair behind my ear. "There's still time to back out."

"She needs this."

He didn't like that answer, but he didn't press.

"I'll come with you to the meeting."

Bryce stared, but I didn't back down. I could handle the board of directors—it was Thomas I couldn't handle, but since Bryce seemed to believe he could...I would just have to trust in that.

"You shouldn't keep Alba waiting," Sherri announced before leaving, "She's a little out of sorts this morning."

Bryce sighed.

"If I see Sean, I'll get him to keep you company for a little while."

"Good luck, I guess," I muttered. He didn't even bother trying to pretend to be enjoying himself, just nodded and was gone.


	34. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

* * *

I had only been alone for a little while before the door opened; I began muttering the body binding spell without thinking, but it wasn't someone trying to kill me. It was only Sean. He didn't look very happy, though.

"Bryce is sure he can get Grandpa to agree to help Savannah," he told me. "Which is insane. He won't tell me why he thinks that. I don't suppose he told you?"

"We don't actually talk much," I shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "Have the Cortezes found any leads on Savannah?"

"Nothing. They're still looking. If things go well later we'll have more resources to give them."

Or slow them down, but I didn't say that because he was trying to be helpful. "You'll find them. And if you don't, I should be able to talk to Savannah, if I ever manage to get out of here. She's going to be so pissed when she finds out I managed to visit the Nast office before she did."

He nodded. It was unnecessary for him to look at me in that way. I thought I had cleaned up fairly well, but...I really, really hoped I had. Smoothing down my skirt as I got up and walked around to the front of the desk, I asked, "Something on my face?"

He appeared startled and then guilty, as he looked down. "I was just thinking, you probably know my sister better than I do and my brother's—" fucking you. But he didn't say that. Instead, he covered, "He's spent the last couple days in your company and I still don't know anything about you."

"What do you want to know?"

Sean shifted, clearly uncomfortable, wanting to demand the information he wanted, but knowing that regular people didn't just go around demanding things. After a long while I guess he figured the roundabout approach was the best.

"Do you like my brother?"

"Excuse me?"

Sean shifted uncomfortably but steeled his face. "Bryce. Do you...why are you with him?"

"Are you asking me what my intentions are?" I would have been insulted but it was kind of really cute. "That's so sweet."

"That's not an answer."

"Do you have time to do this to all the girls he sleeps with? That must eat up a big part of your week."

"Also not an answer."

It finally dawned on me that Sean, despite his manners and his eagerness to help, was actually a Nast. That meant that if push came to shove, he could have me killed for looking at him wrong. And playing around with his baby brother wasn't the best way to endear myself to the man.

"I'm not under your jurisdiction. You can have the Cortezes interrogate me if you want. Otherwise, I don't have to answer to you."

"That's not..." He sighed in frustration, but I had no desire to make this easier on him. In part because I wasn't exactly sure how I would answer. "He told you, didn't he?"

"Like I said before, we're not so big on talking."

"He told you." Sean had finally found his confidence, but I held his eye. "About me. Or maybe Savannah did and he just confirmed it, but you know. So now I need to know what you're going to do about that."

"And my feelings about Bryce relate to that how?"

Sean needed to be better at this. I was substantially younger, substantially smaller and didn't have even a hint of his power; yet, he was scared to push. He almost looked like he was going to back down. But he didn't.

"When he leaves you, you should come talk to me."

One of these days, I was going to let the Nasts pay me off, just because they kept offering to do it.

"Sean, I'm not with your brother because he's well off, so you won't have to pay me hush money. And your brother is never going to break my heart, so I'm not going to out you to get back at him. I will tell your sister we had this conversation, and she may or may not kick your ass depending on her mood, but that's the extent you have to worry about me. Okay?"

Before he could answer, Sherri was back at the door. She gave Sean the same adoring smile she had given his brother. "I've just been told your meeting's ready to begin."

Sean had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't risk..."

"The awkwardness right now? You have bodyguards so you can avoid this." But one of them was off escorting my mother, so I guess I couldn't blame Sean for trying to protect himself. "Ready?"

Sean held out his arm, like some sort of old-fashioned gentleman and I took it.

* * *

The Nast board of directors were a scary bunch. There must have been growth hormones or something in the water as they all towered over me as they stood around the table. They weren't standing on my account—Thomas Nast was a little late. Everyone was dressed in black, except for Alba who had on a beige suit with a fluorescent green and orange scarf. She was the only one that smiled, and it was forced. I don't think she was pleased with our plan. It was going to be a long meeting.

Alba wasn't the only woman. That was probably the only thing that surprised me about the crowd of angry, over dressed power-whores that faced me. It was a rare thing to see women high up in Cabals, mostly because the higher up you went, the more sorcerers there were—and that meant fewer spots for the rest of the world to fight over. The Cortez Cabal had introduced their first female member only the year before and I suspected—but didn't dare say to Savannah—that had more to do with Benecio wanting to please his daughter-in-law than any other sort of forward thinking.

In contrast to Alba, the other two women looked almost like their male counterparts, with dour expressions and short, severe hair. Cabals didn't pay you to be friendly. There was no indication of race around anyone, but I would have bet the other two women were necromancers and not just because they were flanking the hated Hollis. Half-demons rarely made it to the board of directors, since most only discovered the existence of the Cabals in their twenties, in the middle of an existential crisis. It was a rare person who could find the concentration that joining the board of directors required in the midst of that turmoil. Plus, the two women had identical broaches in the place of bowties, broaches that fairly screamed 'we like dead things.'

So, three women, which wasn't bad. The Nasts did have witches on staff, but they weren't allowed to come near the board room. I heard it had been different before, but since Kristof's death the family had been careful to keep the company witches out of Thomas' sight.

And there I was, getting to sit in on this unpleasant meeting, right beside Bryce. He had left the chair beside their grandfather free for his brother, but put me on his other side. It was a little too close to Thomas Nast, but I didn't say anything. Under the table, his hand found mine, calloused thumb running over the back my hand, reassuring me.

A man in the corner caught my eye, or rather his eyes caught my attention. They were a striking, liquid amber and rather familiar. Bryce squeezed my hand and whispered, "Mr. Bidibadi. He had a daughter, once. We don't talk about it."

Nadira's father. He shared a superficial resemblance to her, but nothing more. What was it like, I wondered, to be human, to have jobs that didn't rule every moment of your life? Bryce wasn't the person to ask, and no one else in that room would talk to me.

A few of the sorcerers were obviously related to Bryce, but only about half of them. The rest were the sons of the other important families. It was infuriating how much like ancient royal courts the Cabal boardrooms really were.

As if on cue, the King himself entered and took his seat at the head of the table. The old man didn't even spare me a glance, which said a lot more than he probably would have liked.

The meeting was nothing like Friday's dinner, however. Sean led most of the discussion, Bryce talking only when his brother asked him too. I wasn't allowed to say a word. My presence was explained away as humouring the Cortezes, and there was a dig in there when Bryce said it that I couldn't help but notice. This was the Nast playground and he wasn't going to play nice when he didn't have to.

The board allowed Sean to finish his speech on what he suspected the Eisenbergs had been up to. They had been relatively silent throughout his presentation, with only a few technical questions being asked. When Sean finished there was a few moments of silence—predators sizing up their prey.

Alba was the first to speak. "I've been saying it for years. You can't make someone loyal to you."

"Yes you can," Bryce said with a shrug, more to defend an old argument than because he should. "It just doesn't seemed to have worked in this case. That doesn't mean it isn't possible."

Hollis got back on topic, addressing Sean's argument. "You could make a similar claim about anyone in this room. Just because they had the opportunity and the power doesn't mean they opened the time tear. What I want to know is why no one was called in when a time tear was discovered on our property? And why we should care about the disappearance of a mere witch?"

That set the rest of them off, a screaming mass intent on finding blood. It was nice to see that some were on our side, arguing against angering the Cortezes, though it probably had more to do with Edmund Eisenberg's vacant board chair than with any desire to help Savannah. It was Sean who tried to bring order to the table as Bryce watched his silent grandfather. That sort of staring freaked me out, so I asked him quietly, "Are you just going to sit here?"

"You don't enjoy the sounds of the animals in heat?" he whispered back.

"Bryce..."

"Wait. Sean'll take care of it."

That didn't seem likely. While he could repeat the Cortez talking points, Sean wasn't able to recite them fast enough for the board. Yes, the Eisenbergs had been linked to the creatures controlled by the time tear. Yes, he was sure that the proof was solid. No, there was no way someone else could have taken Savannah. Yes, he was sure the Cortezes felt that way, too. No, Benecio hadn't been contacted, but it was just a matter of time.

"I simply don't see the profit in it," one of the relatives said. "Why would Edmund go rogue? Mariah may have been unstable, but surely Edmund would see how pointless this entire exercise is. All due respect, Bryce, but attacking you isn't the most logical way to attack this company."

"And it would be easier to kill you in New York," Hollis said.

That sounded like a threat to me, and I think Sean shared my feelings, even if the rest of the board seemed content to ignore Hollis after Bryce carelessly flipped him off (always classy). Sean was turning red.

"Maybe it's not about profit. Call me crazy, but I think the Eisenbergs have a lot of really good reasons to hate us that have nothing to do with profit."

"Then why kidnap the witch?" Thomas fairly bit out the word. "Her disappearance is nothing to us, except to force us into a conflict with the Cortezes."

There was half a grin of Bryce's face as Sean spat out: "Her disappearance means something to me. You know what I'd do if I had access to a time tear? I'd go back and save the people that cared about me. I'd I kidnap the most powerful witch on the planet and get her to make sure the people I loved wouldn't die this time. I would—but then, I've always been on a different page than this company when it comes to human feeling."

Now Bryce was definitely smiling. At least, until Alba spoke.

"Zachery didn't die in an accident that could have been prevented, Sean. He didn't die from injuries that could be cured. He was born sick. Tay-Sachs is genetic. That's not something that can be fixed, no matter how many witches you kidnap."

"It's possible."

I don't know what possessed me; I had promised not to say anything. It was one thing to lie to my housemate's about eating breakfast, it was another to lie to the most powerful people in the supernatural world about Savannah's powers. But I needed them to agree to help. So I told them what they needed to hear.

"Your employees went to a black witch and she had spells more powerful than...anything." Maybe it was true—I couldn't translate most of Yi's spells, so maybe there was a powerful healing spell in there. "There's a spell that could altar someone's very genetic code, so they would become perfect. Savannah could get the spell to work."

Was that good enough?

"Why is she even here?" Thomas demanded.

"Talk to the Cortezes, Grandpa," Bryce reminded him. "Besides, a witch would know more about witch spells than us."

"Someone ask the Enrights if she's telling the truth," one of the blonde men said.

"If they don't know, what does that prove?" Bryce asked. "Besides they're as incompetent as my father always said."

"Call them," Thomas snapped. "Meeting adjourned until further notice."

Without another world, the CEO stormed from the room. The board didn't move. Beside me, Bryce stood up, silently giving me one last chance to stop him. I settled for giving him an encouraging smile. We took too long. Sean was already heading out after his grandfather and Bryce hurried to catch his older brother.

Leaving me surrounded by the Nast board of directors.

"Come with me," Alba said. She was standing in front of me, between me and the wolves, and so I followed her. It's not like I had much of a choice.

Her office was on the floor below, a brightly coloured room with a view not quite as good as Bryce's. The amount of foliage in the room didn't even surprise me. She was a shaman—I was only surprised she didn't have some sort of pet living in her office. The giant painting of puppies on her walls might have qualified.

She didn't go sit behind her desk like I had expected her, just turned to face me as I stood in the middle of the room.

"Well, this is awkward." There was a pleasant smile on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I suppose I should start by saying the blouse was smart, but those nylons are far too thin. From now on stick to pants and put up your hair. It shouldn't be blowing around like that. If only we could start getting you to wear gloves."

"I'll cover up as much as I can," I promised.

"There's something I can do that might fool a shaman who wasn't looking too closely." Without asking, she pushed my blouse up, so she could put her hands on my stomach. It didn't take long until she frowned. "Who tampered with your cycle?"

"Some shaman Bryce brought in. I can't remember his name."

Her lips pursed but she didn't push. "Someone without subtly. I can try and mask that, but it will be difficult. I can't do that without a lot of time and who knows how long those boys will take. If...if he goes through with it, I'm sure Thomas will have me check up on you later. I can do it then."

"You think he won't go through with it?"

"Between me and you, girl?" She tapped me on the nose, and laughed. "No. He won't. Thomas can't deny the Cortezes some help, even if it's an unofficial request. It won't come to this."

"Good." It was a relief, in a way. "Then why am I here?"

"Well, Thomas has made a career out of being predictable. And it's an interesting contingency plan to consider. We'll keep you untouchable for a little while, just in case he needs some prodding."

And she wanted to inspect me personally.

"If it does come to it, I'll tell you what symptoms to report. I may even be able to help you fake some of them. And we'd say it's a boy, of course. You should maybe think of some names."

"Excuse me?"

"It would be better if it had a name. Something...talk to Sherri. Bryce's..." when I nodded, she continued. The look on her face was obviously predatory. "She'd be a good person to ask. Thomas will like that."

"Considering you don't know me at all, you're being awfully cavalier about the fact you're willing to go behind the company's back."

She threw her head back and laughed, body rippling. It should have been terrifying, but it wasn't. It was almost friendly. Before going to sit behind her desk, she patted me on the head. "Oh sweetheart, who says I don't know anything about you?"

"You're meeting wasn't even an hour ago. How much can you know?" I gave Nast resources a lot of credit—but even they had limitations.

"It's been days since the party, though."

"Oh."

"Don't look so worried. Thomas always lets me handle these things without interference." Things—Bryce's whores. I almost snarled. "Don't look so upset, dearie. I can kill you before you realize what I've done, if I think you're going to betray us, but so long as you behave I'll protect you as best I can."

"What does _behaving_ entail?"

She almost looked offended. "Not like that, child. Heaven forbid. You start behaving _that_ way and you're on your own. I simply meant keep your mouth shut and don't give Thomas a reason to have you executed. He won't forgive Thomas that, whatever else he'll forgive. I know you have a good reason to fear us, but we don't try to be cruel. Even Thomas."

Good reason to fear them? "It sounds like you already know a bit about me."

"Some of the information was already in the office. We have quite...extensive files on that incident."

"I'll bet."

One hand reached over the desk, pushing a folder in my direction. "That's a record of what happened to those who thought angering a vampire was a good idea. Most of it is classified, so I can't let you leave this room with it, but since I'm plotting treason with you already anyway..."

I couldn't make myself take the folder she offered. "Why have you agreed to help him?"

"I trust Bryce; I helped raise him, I better trust him. I believe him when he says he's not trying to wrestle power from that old bastard. This isn't really company business at all. Besides, you don't get far in this world by yourself; the shamans have to stick together. _We_ have to stick together."

This time when she patted the folder, I took it. I still didn't trust her, exactly, but I wanted to believe her, anyway.

Alba started talking about Cabal security measures, or something, as I stopped listening to her, too intent on the words I was reading. Thomas Nast had a bit of a temper. For the first time in my life, I was very, very glad. The details were gory and awful; they made me incredibly happy. Sure, I was crying, just a little bit, but it was only because there was finally the tiniest hint that justice had been done.

The Nasts, in their arrogance, had gotten my sister killed. So they had carved the problem out with a dull spoon.

There was a knock on the door. I dropped the folder on the desk and hastily stepped away, while Alba rose. Thankfully, it was only Bryce.

"Darling—" But he stopped addressing Alba once he spotted me. "Thank God you're here. I was afraid Hollis had made you into some sort of human sacrifice."

"He tries keep those sort of things for the weekend," Alba said cheerfully as Bryce closed the door behind him.

"I told you to be nice, Alba."

I hastily wiped my red eyes, trying to stop sniffling. "She was. How did it go with your grandfather?"

The smile on his face was contagious, even if I hadn't heard the good news yet.

"You should have seen Sean," he laughed. "It was kind of scary, actually. I've never seen him so upset; he even threatened to go to Benecio for help himself. Grandpa's pride won't let that happen. He's allowing Sean to help the Cortez investigation. Limited resources, but Sean's got some leeway. Grandpa can't deny his future heir."

The last word came out a little less happy than the rest, but that was Bryce's battle, not mine. Savannah was getting the best help she could expect from Thomas.

"Said future heir accidentally called me a whore. Again," I informed Bryce. "You might want to ask him to stop that. It hurts."

"He gets awkward around girls."

"Bryce!" But he just shrugged, so Alba sighed and moved the conversation along. "It seems as if the two of you don't need my help, unless you count me teaching Sean some manners. Are you done?"

"Yeah." He glanced over, but I agreed. I had gotten my fill of the crazy women that inexplicably cared about him. "I'll see you around?"

"There's just one more thing. If you don't mind, Gillian, I'd like a word with my darling boy."

"I'll be just outside, then," I said as I slipped out.

Just because I should have been safe, didn't mean I felt that way. Though I made sure my ear wasn't against the door (not that there was a chance I could overhear that way; all the offices around here had to be protected) I kept a firm grip on the doorknob. If someone approached, I wanted to be back in that room before they could hurt me.

Which is why when Bryce opened the door, I almost felt down at his feet.

"You ready to go?" he asked, helping me up.

"Shut up."

* * *

In the artificial lights of the elevator, it was hard to miss how tired Bryce looked. I probably looked the same, though I didn't dare look in the mirror. We needed to sleep more. Maybe once the spell worked, and my mother left, and Savannah came back...

"What did she say to you?" I asked, trying to distract myself. "If it wasn't top secret?"

"Most of it wasn't. She told me not to fuck this up. I knew she liked you; she told me to watch out for you. Said she was tired of watching my family crush every girl they came across. She expects me to be better than that."

He had beautiful eyes. It startled me how aware of that fact I suddenly became, looking up at him in the middle of the elevator. They were the same colour as always, but there was still...there was something different. Something funny. He really, honestly, truly respected her opinion. He wanted to make her proud—if that wasn't the most disturbing thing I'd ever seen...

"I get why you'd ask for her help. But I still don't like the fact she was comfortable helping you plan what is essentially mutiny."

He shrugged. "She wants me happy."

"Yes, but shamans always have funny ideas about how to make you happy."

My tone must have given me away.

"Dira and I only slept together because we were bored. The way she's acting has nothing to do with that; she's just always been that way. Sort of screwy and possessive."

"Please. I'm not jealous. I'm creeped out by their incessant fawning over you." The elevator doors opened as he laughed.

"Come on," he said, pulling me through the lobby. "As funny as it is listening to criticize me in new and exciting ways, I'd much rather get to the hotel early. It'll give us more time to talk to your mother."

Crap.

"Can we not and say we did?"

"Oh come on, Gillian. I get to see an older version of you. It'll be great."

"She's nothing like me." I couldn't keep the anger from my voice or the hate. I didn't try. It was the truth and he should know it.

We finally arrived at the front, were Grant had brought the car around. Sean had left earlier, Bryce had told me as we left Alba's. Margaret Levine had arrived at the hotel and Sean had gone to play host.

No sooner had we gotten into the car than Bryce pulled me into his lap, kissing me until I was sure my lips were bruised. There was no gentleness, just pure desire and it terrified me because I couldn't figure out what he was trying to prove. So I kissed him back because—fuck it. I kissed him back because I wanted to and he was still very, very good at it.

"What was that for?" I asked, once we pulled apart for air. He just shrugged and I took it as an apology.

"You know what I don't understand?" I asked, making myself comfortable on top of him. "Why didn't the Eisenbergs just come to you? I mean, instead of going rogue and trying to bring down both the Cortezes and the Nasts, shouldn't they have just asked you for help?"

"Cabals don't have many rules," Bryce began, lazily kissing his way down my neck, undoing the top few buttons on my blouse. "No, we have lots of rules. Lots of bureaucratic rules and almost no moral ones. But the dead stay dead. Why else do you think my father is still a ghost?"

"It was just a child, Bryce. It hadn't done anything. I mean, isn't the whole point of having all that power so you can help the people you love?"

He stopped just between the valley of my breasts. "The point of having all that power is to have the power. You don't—"

"You don't what?"

He hadn't picked up where he had stopped, just sort of paused. Eyes studied my face for a moment. I didn't need him to say it anymore—I felt nauseous enough as it was. You don't get to love anyone.

He moved on. "We don't even know if they really did go back through the time tear to save the kid, since I'm assuming you were lying to the board. It would make no sense to go back in time for a kid they can't cure."

"There might be a cure. I just can't translate any of it. I'll start working on it though, once we communicate with her." I kissed him just as hard as he had previously kissed me. "Thank you for not telling the board the truth."

"Like you said, you could be right. Stranger things have happened."

"Thanks." He laughed and I leaned against him, trying to draw the strength from him to face my mother. "You know, even if they're holding my best friend hostage and are responsible for the deaths of more people than I can remember—" The people at the club, Tia, the men of Twelve-Thirteen and all the other people they were playing God over, the men Bryce had sent to stop them, the Yi family...and probably more whose faces I didn't know. "But still. I know this makes me a horrible person, but I can't help wishing they were my parents."

"You wouldn't want that. There is such a thing as too far."

"How far is that?"

"That would be your problem."

Our conversation stopped when the knock came on the glass door, signalling that we were at the hotel. With a sigh, I did my shirt back up and slipped off him. He patted down my hair and then got out. After a deep breath, I followed.

* * *

Bryce was enjoying my quiet freak out much more than he should have. I was absolutely terrified. I hadn't spoken to the woman since my father had come to take me to Dana's funeral. And now I had to beg for her help. Plus, show her off to people I didn't want thinking badly of me. It was going to be a nightmare.

Spotting Paige in the lobby didn't make me feel any better. I sighed as we headed over.

"Stop that Gillian," Bryce whispered. "I can do the talking—we'll keep things professional."

"You haven't met her yet," I muttered. Our conversation was cut short when we reached Paige and Sean. They led us to the next floor up.

Sean had booked off the hotel's convention room—the joys of Cabal money—so we could have privacy to perform the spell in peace. I gave Sean the list of how the materials should be laid out while Paige went to get Margaret Levine. Bryce was coming with me, but in his role as Cabal boss. I wanted my mother to see this was not about the two of us. If Savannah had time, I would have waited for Paige—if it was just Bryce, me and my mother I had a feeling violence would ensue. Paige would have let me keep my strenuous hold on morality. The truth was we had wasted enough time already. And I couldn't risk having my mom find out she was a Cortez.

Bryce thought I was being ridiculous—what else was new?—but he explained the story he had told my mother. The Nast representative had promised her a two week all expenses-paid trip to Los Angeles—for her and a friend—if she would agree to a meeting sometime today. That was all. She was going to bleed them for a lot more than that before the day was out, but Bryce told me to shut up and stop being so cynical.

When I ran out of excuses, I knocked on the hotel door.

The woman who opened the door was decidedly not my mother. My mother looked like me; this woman was a good half a foot taller, brown hair streaked with highlights and breasts that might have been bigger than my head. But, sadly enough, she wasn't unfamiliar.

She took one look and ignored me completely. Of course, she would. What was a long-lost daughter compared to a member of the opposite sex? Smiling up at Bryce, adjusting her posture just a little bit, she said, "I don't remember ordering room service."

"Hey Kristy," I snapped at my mother's best friend, drawing her attention to me. She blinked. I was my mother's daughter and seven years didn't change that. "Oh, bless my heart. Gillian, honey, is that you?"

"It's good to see you again," I lied. "Is my mother here?"

"She's in the shower. Honey, you should see it. I think all of us could fit in it." Here Kristy gave Bryce a look I didn't much like, but I could ignore it, because Kristy would have given that same look to anything with a penis. She hadn't changed at bit. "Come in, come in. You're Momma's gonna be so happy to see you."

"Thank you," I muttered as I entered the room, Bryce following behind. Kristy didn't bother shoving the pile of clothes under anything, just led us to a table on the balcony where she had been painting her talon-like nails. "Now, y'all just take a seat and I'll just tell Lynsay that we got guests."

She went back inside, but even through the closed door, we could hear her hollering: "We got company, honey, so hurry up. You don't want to miss this."

"That's my mother's best friend," I explained quietly to Bryce. "They went to school together."

"Are they real?" Bryce asked, still staring in wonder. Kristy's chest was going to fall over one day.

"Ask her and she'll let you find out."

Kristy's return stopped him from replying. "It's so good to see you again, sugar. Lynsay didn't tell me you were why we're out here."

"Actually, she doesn't know I'm coming. It's actually..." I didn't know how to explain this all to my mother's human friend. "Will she be long? I really need to talk to her."

"Of course you do. It has to be more than five years since your Daddy just up and took you. But you know you're Momma; she's got to look nice for company. This a friend of yours, Gillian?" She was looking at Bryce like he was some sort of desert.

"This is my boss. How have you been Kristy? And how's...how's my mother?"

"We've been fine," Kristy said with that pageant queen smile. "She'll be real glad to see you. She talks about you all the time, like."

Does she talk about Dana too? I wanted to scream at her, but didn't dare. The only thing I could do was offer a weak smile.

"She was real sad when she heard about your Daddy. I told her she shouldn't have been, the rat bastard up and took her kid, but she wouldn't listen. She would have gone to the funeral but she didn't want you to think she was disrespecting your Daddy, seeing as he didn't want nothing to do with her."

"She could have called."

"Now honey, we both know your Momma ain't never been good with no phone."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Bryce muttered. I gave him a sickly sweet smile and stepped on his foot. He didn't even flinch.

"I declare, you do look different, Gillian. Though you still sit ever so straight. I always wished my girls could sit like you did. They're a lot different, now, taller than me. I'd bet you'd still fit on my couch. But you filled out some. You're Momma and I always did worry that you'd end up flat like you're sister."

I couldn't handle that, but this time it was Bryce's foot digging into mine. The pain stopped me, made me swallow down the words I had been about to scream at this crass, insensitive woman who had kept me off the streets for part of my childhood. It wasn't her fault I was determined to hate everything about her. She had always been kind to us; she was a loyal friend and I couldn't forgive her for it.

Our conversation was cut short as the glass door slid open. An achingly familiar drawl called out to us: "You won't believe how long that hot water lasted."

And there stood my mother.


	35. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

* * *

There was no doubt it was my mother, even with the intervening years. She was wearing clothes that belonged on a woman a decade younger and her breasts spilled over the top of her tank. Her purple bra straps were showing. Her skin was more spotted, less firm—she had always had lines, but now they were more pronounced, etched deeply into her skin. Her hair was blonde, but not the way it had once been natural. There was no doubt she had bleached it, since it was almost white and her darker roots were showing at the top. There was enough makeup on her face that I was afraid it would just fall off to the floor like some kind of mask. I didn't want to think about what would be underneath.

She looked just the way I would in twenty years and the thought made me want to launch myself off the balcony.

"Kris—" And that's when she saw me. But it had been almost ten years. She couldn't be sure. "Gillian? That you girl?"

"Yes, it's me. How are you?"

Her eyes narrowed and she sat down at the table. "Kristy, is that my daughter on the other side of the table?"

"It sure is. Isn't this a perfect little treat, Lynsay?"

Mom evidently disagreed. "Why is she here?"

"They say they got business with you."

A cold look spread across my mother's face. "Always were Daddy's little girl, weren't you, Gillian? Only coming home when works makes you."

Dana was Daddy's girl, I wanted to shout, but I needed to do this. "Mother, there's something I need to talk to you about. This is Bryce Nast. Do you remember who the Nasts are? We'd like to talk to you in private."

"Now that just ain't nice," Kristy pouted.

Lynsay knew what that meant. "Kristy, could you just give us a minute? It won't be a long conversation. I know who the Nasts are, Gillian. It was your Daddy who never did listen."

Kristy stood up, fixing her shirt and smiling at Bryce the whole while. "I guess I'm going to head to that pool then. Nice seeing you again Gillian. Remember, you come see me any old time."

"Thanks, Kristy," I said with a brittle smile. The three of us waited in silence until the door shut behind her. Mom spoke first, her voice cold.

"I appreciate this room, sorcerer. But I'm telling you right now, I ain't doing you no good turn. I don't help Cabals." She looked at me, disgust on her face. "Even if my family does."

"This is a unique situation, Miss Dixon," Bryce said smoothly. "You're daughter is not working for my Cabal. She is temporarily working for me in a personal capacity. I assure you, this is as off the record as possible."

"A friend of mine recently went missing, mother. She was also a close friend of Mr Nast. We're trying to recover her. But to do that, we need your help. There's a communication spell that we can perform, but I need you to perform it with me."

"Sugar, you know I don't do magic. Didn't know you could either."

"I learned," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. I tried to cover. "If you could just try. If it doesn't work, there's no harm done. And if it does then you've helped save my friend's life."

"You're friend got a name?"

"Savannah. She's a witch, too."

"And she's friends with a sorcerer." My mother regarded Bryce with a look I did not like at all, just as appraising as Kristy's had been, though Mom's wasn't filled with lust. "Didn't know that happened."

"Rarely," Bryce admitted. "You would of course be compensated for your effort, Miss Dixon."

"And get kicked out of this room if I don't?"

"Of course not. Your visit to L.A. is a separate issue. It stands no matter what you agree to. Though your situation would obviously improve if you did your daughter this small favour," he said with all the arrogance of his kind. A tiny smile may have appeared on my face. He was just too good at being a Cabal prince.

Mom liked that, though she tried to hide it. Failed miserably, but at least she tried. Money was always tight and how could you blame her for trying to make a little extra anyway she could? I hated myself for thinking that, for justifying it, but it was habit. And I couldn't seem to stop.

"What would I have to do?" she said slowly. "Because I'm going to be straight with you. I don't know jack about spells."

"It shouldn't be hard to teach you. It's just a supplementary cast, so you don't even have to be powerful. I would be doing most of the work," I told her. If I had the strength, but that was a whole other problem. "You'd just have to repeat a few lines in Latin. We should be done before supper and then we won't bother you for the rest of your trip."

"Rest of my life you mean, right, sugar?"

"Whatever you'd like," I agreed quickly. I didn't want to be near her, and I really didn't want to be near her if she didn't want to be around me. "So what do you say?"

"You're not involved with them?"

"Like Bryce said, this is strictly off the record. I just want Savannah back. And if the Cabals are the only way to do it, then that's what I'm going to do. They don't scare me."

I hadn't meant for that to come out. But Dana had been unconscious for days and Mom hadn't gone to her side, hadn't even told me Dana was sick in case I begged her to visit. She was stronger than me in that way. When Mom said enough, she never went back on her word, even when she should have. She said she would die before she went near the Cortezes again—so she let Dana die without us.

"Now, sugar, that's just you're sister talking."

"Dana can't talk anymore, Mother. She hasn't been able to talk for a long time now."

Bryce interrupted before we could get into it anymore. "We are on a deadline Miss Dixon. Savannah might not have a lot of time. Are you going to help us or not?"

Lyndsay leaned back in her chair and watched me, long enough that I started to squirm.

"Well, Mr Nast—Bryce, wasn't it?—as mighty fine as this here hotel room is, like I said before, I don't work for the Cabals. My daughter may be involved with you, but I sure as hell won't be."

"I'm going to ask you again to reconsider, Miss Dixon."

"I'm always going to say no."

She was serious; she wasn't going to do this. No Cabals didn't just mean no Cortezes.

"So help me god, if she dies because you didn't help—" I was choking on the words, but I didn't care, "If I lose her because you were too damn stubborn—How could you? You can't do this to me twice! Just let me see her! Just one last time..." Stupid tears. "I won't let you do this again. You have to help. You have to."

"Like you helped your Daddy?"

"I didn't leave him. I'm not the one who ran away from him, who stole his children without leaving him so much as a note. He told me to go and so I went." I never would have taken the scholarship if I'd known what he would do when I left. Never. "I didn't know he would—I wasn't like you. I wasn't trying to hurt him. I wasn't—"

"Gillian, get out."

"What?"

It wasn't that he was ordering me about; that was par on course for Bryce. But I hadn't expected him to pull his Cabal bullshit right then. He didn't flinch when I turned to glare.

"Go wait in the hall. Miss Dixon and I have some business to discuss and it's taking too long with you here. So get out."

Even though he sounded like a Cabal boss, he hadn't pulled on the aura of overconfidence that should have accompanied his speech. He was asking me to listen to him, in the politest way he knew how while we were in front of other people. So I did.

"I'll be in the hall."

Once again, I waited outside the door while Bryce conducted business with an older woman. This time, however, I got to pace, so it was a little less awful. Who was I kidding? It was a thousand times worse than having him face Alba.

But this time it only took him two minutes before he came storming out the room.

"She's agreed. She'll be out as soon as she finishes getting ready."

I didn't ask what he had given her. I didn't want to know.

* * *

When we arrived at the conference room, everyone else was waiting for us. Sean had followed the instructions perfectly and I knew Paige would have already double-checked everything. There couldn't be any mistakes. Also in the room were Grant and Fitz—the other bodyguards were outside the door. They were watching an old woman who I recognized as Margaret Levine. She was talking quietly with Paige in the center of the room, clearly uncomfortable. She still had the badly dyed hair. Old woman couldn't pull off black hair, it was just a fact of life.

I led my mother over to them. Margaret took a step back and I noticed how all the men in the room were giving her wide berth. Even Bryce was standing back against the wall, though unlike Sean his eyes were not downcast.

"Hello Margaret, I'm Gillian. We met once before, at Theresa Moss's funeral, remember?"

She took my hand, but her attention was still on the sorcerers. Paige shot me apologetic look, but this wasn't her fault. Coven witches couldn't help being timid. Savannah would hate that we had turned to them for help.

I quickly ran through what would be required of the two of them. It was a simple enough ritual, requiring only candles, strategically placed herbs and the casters. "The phrase is fairly simple. We should—" There was a very good chance this wouldn't work. "Sean! Come over here. This way you can learn it too, just in case we want to try the spell with you, later."

Both Nast brothers came towards us and Margaret got decidedly more nervous. Even my mother noticed. "Sugar, they ain't going to hurt you. We're no used to them dead."

"What Mrs MacArthur means is that the Nasts are here to help Savannah just like you," Paige explained soothingly. "They need our help more than we need theirs."

"I should have listened to Victoria," Margaret said simply, like a child might.

Victoria Alden was the reason Paige was no longer leader of the American Coven of Witches. Paige did not like hearing that at all. "If you can live with Savannah's death on your hands, than I can send you back right now," Paige said. Savannah would have been proud. I had never heard Paige talk like that before.

Margaret was too pathetic to deal with something like that. When Sean stood five feet away from her she didn't bolt, even if she shook like a leaf.

"Why can't Bryce do it?" Sean asked. It was a good question, considering he knew the spell already.

"The oldest brother might work better," I lied. The truth was I didn't think Sean and Paige would let me push as far as I wanted to; Bryce would let me have more time—and then pull me back in the end. "Shall we proceed?"

It was slow going. In a striking blow to sorcerer/witch relations, both witches proved useless. Lynsay didn't know magic so at least her incompetence was forgivable. The only reason I didn't strangle Margaret was because she was so damn old.

Bryce fixed up his brother's small problems with the rhythm while Paige and I tried to help the witches. My mother had no concept of the accent, but she got it eventually. Whatever else she was, Lynsay was a hard-worker. She didn't like to fail. Margaret had barely gotten the second line when I thought my mother had done as well as she was going to do enough. I sent her over to Bryce—who she was still watching, and that was really starting to get annoying, especially since Sean was clearly better looking—and began helping Paige. It took long enough, but finally Margaret was ready.

We were ready. Now we just had to hope it worked.

Sean had drawn a shape with salt. A perfect circle, with a square inside. The three of us sat in our respective corners, the two older witches on either side of me, an empty space for Savannah across from me. I was on my mother's right; Savannah would have been on Margaret's. There were four unlit candles in the center.

We did a walk through first, to get them comfortable with the spell, to make sure they entered at the right parts and didn't become surprised by anything during the spell. They seemed to handle it all right, so everyone else in the room backed up and we began.

I lit the candle in front of me and began the spell. When I reached the forth line, Margaret and my mother began their part, taking their candles and putting them to my flame as they spoke the words I had taught them. When the candles were lit I held out my hands and they placed theirs in mine, leaving their other hands open to the empty space where Savannah should have been. We finished up the last part of the spell they had learned. That was the easy part.

It was up to me now. I began another spell, calling on Savannah, asking for a response. Slowly the fourth candle began to smoke. The words kept coming, the same phrases over and over again until I could have said them in my sleep. Then the tiniest flicker appeared. I switched to the next part of the spell.

Immediately I was overwhelmed with sensations, screaming ringing through my head. Fear and hate and more fear, confusion and disappointment, love and duty—and nothing that was Savannah.

"Shh..." I whispered in English. "I need you two to calm your minds. You're blocking out everything. Please...quiet your minds."

Slowly the noise in my head dimmed until it was almost silent. And then I threw everything I had out, calling for Savannah.

I would know her anywhere. This didn't work like a normal communication spell. There was no annoying voice in my head. Instead I got a brief flash of emotion, of impotent rage and overwhelming hunger that I knew too well...I could feel her banging her hands against a prison she couldn't break out of...there was fear too, fear that she had gone too far, fear that no one would come, fear that the fear would overwhelm her...and then there was more rage.

Concentrating on the flashes of emotion, I cast the second part of the spell again, trying to strengthen the tentative connection. If I could get her to realize I was there, she might have the power to break through to me. But it was like watching television—however much I shouted, nothing I did effected what was on screen.

But I was too close to give up just yet. I tried the second part of the spell, yet again, sucking myself dry. I was beating against a closed iron door and there was no answer.

"Enough," a voice snarled and I found myself being dragged out of the circle. "Gillian, stop it."

Bryce had his hands under my arms, half-dragging me up. I didn't even waste time getting angry. "I felt her. She's there. She's alive. Pissed as hell, but what else is new?"

As I talked I became aware of the wetness on my face. Now on my feet, I lifted a hand to my face to find my upper lip was covered in blood. A quick look told me mother and Margaret didn't share my condition. They were regarding me with looks of trepidation and concern.

Bryce handed me a tissue without a word.

"She's out there," I told Paige. "I was this close. We need to try again."

She shook her head. "You were like that for ten minutes Gillian. You're exhausted. I don't think it's possible."

Even though my first instinct was to argue, I had to agree. Everything I had was poured into that spell. Damn. Paige went to Margaret, to thank her for her time. As I dabbed at my nose, I glanced up at Bryce. "Thanks for letting me try." Because Paige and Sean wouldn't have stood by why I bled out unless actively restrained.

"It was supposed to work," Bryce muttered.

"We should try with your brother," I said. Addressing my mother, who was still crouched in the circle I asked: "Are you up for another go?"

"I think so. Strange feeling, this spell stuff."

"It just takes some getting used to. You did really well though. Thank you."

"Don't know how you managed to stay so calm, what with that twitchy one panicking in your head," Lynsay said. I smiled because Margaret's freak out had been annoying, but said nothing because Paige was still helping Margaret out of the room, thanking her all her help. It must have cost Paige a lot to go to her Coven and beg for their help; for her sake, I hated that it hadn't worked.

"Practice—I'm still not very good. Savannah would have been able to do it, if she had been casting. This time we need to—"

"Sean'll redraw the circle," Bryce interrupted. "You need to get cleaned up."

"I'm fine."

"The blood says otherwise. Come on."

Instead of leaving me time to complain, he just grabbed my arm and dragged to the washroom. I hadn't even noticed they were there, in the corner of the room. Bryce walked me right inside, and I had an irrational urge to kick him out of the women's washroom—we were the only people with access, but I was still so conditioned that I almost told him to get out before I had time to think.

In one swift movement he lifted me up and seated my on the counter, then wet a paper towel before handing it over.

Half turning on the counter, I carefully wiped the blood off my face. It wasn't too bad, actually. Just a small trickle. None of it had even gotten on my shirt—good thing too because it was the only blouse I owned.

I glanced in the mirror and saw Bryce leaning against the opposite wall watching me intently. "Are you really trying to get yourself killed or do you really just not care?" he asked me slowly.

"I just want my best friend back."

"God, if it wouldn't make me such a hypocrite, I'd be ordering you to stop right about now."

"Maybe we should try a deal with Lucifer. He could—"

Bryce smiled a little. "Don't you dare. Besides, I'm sure someone in the company is already working on the demon deal angle. It's what we do."

I laughed a little, and if it wasn't a happy laugh, neither one of us said anything. Bryce examined my face and then wrapped his arms around me. I shivered, exhaustion and cold hitting me all at once. My eyes were closed and I was half-asleep before I realized it. But I didn't want to move for the next year so I just let my head rest for a little while longer.

"I've been thinking..." he said quietly, "If they kidnapped Savannah to heal their son, shouldn't they have brought her back in time with them? Back to when the kid was still alive? If she's still here..."

"We don't know why they want her," I reminded him. "So as long as the board of directors doesn't think of that..."

The bathroom door opened and Paige walked in. "We're all set up and I just wanted to check on Gillian," she explained.

I forced my eyes open and lifted my head off Bryce's shoulder. "I'm fine. I should be able to do it."

"There's no way you're fully recovered," Bryce pointed out.

"It probably won't work anyway," I sighed. "Sean...he's only her half-brother. There's no way—we should try, but I don't have to be at full power."

"Maybe there's another spell we can try," Paige suggested.

"Maybe," I agreed. "Shall we?"

* * *

Lynsay and Sean were in position when I re-entered the conference room. Paige and Bryce went back over to the wall, opposite sides of the room. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I understood that even corresponding interests did not make them friends.

Sitting back down, I began the spell again, relighting the candle. We did the first part of the spell and I held out my hands. My mother's were rough against mine. They had been completely wrecked. Shrivelled and knotted, they belonged to a woman twice her age. They felt like sandpaper—the soap at the diner having long ago eaten away the last vestiges of femininity. It took me a second to squash down the surge of love, but I did it, using anger to fan the feelings of betrayal.

This time it was harder to get the fourth candle to light and even when it did I could only pick up Savannah every few moments, when a particularly strong bout of emotion washed over her. I didn't bother wasting much time trying to get it to work.

"I'm sorry, but it's just not happening," I told Sean. "There's no point in pushing it."

"That's what we were afraid of. Back to the drawing board then?" he asked.

"There is another possibility," I allowed. One that wouldn't work, wasn't possible, but we were so close...and her fear had scared me. Savannah was never scared and I didn't like thinking someone had come and tried to change her. "We could try it with someone else."

Paige was the only one who knew what I was talking about and though she looked tempted, she also looked resigned. "I don't think that's possible."

Sean asked what I was talking about, but I glanced behind me, directing the answer at Bryce. "I need your grandfather."

"This is just another crazy guess," he dismissed.

"Of course it's a crazy guess. That's what I do. But I'm pretty sure—I mean, it should. It's worth trying."

"Getting him not to interfere with efforts to find her took a miracle," Sean said. "He won't actively help her. Especially...no offence, Gillian, but he doesn't particularly like you."

"I consider that a great compliment." Then I turned to Bryce. "You could get him to agree."

"Just to get him to do a stupid spell that might not work?"

"It's working. And you could...I'm sure you could figure out how to extend your advantage."

"Why do I not like the sound of this?" Sean wondered to the world at large.

"We'll be right back," Bryce said, and then the two us slipped back into the washroom. "What is it you want me to tell him?"

"Whatever you were going to tell him before. Hell, I don't care what you have to tell him. Just get him here. The only thing I won't play along with is if you want me to actually birth spawn. Otherwise—"

"You're just as crazy as normal."

"Thanks."

He nodded, kissed me and sighed. "Do you have this sinking feeling that this will blow up in our faces?"

"I think it's kind of fun."

The laughter helped him, I think. Even if he was rolling his eyes at me. We agreed, though. He would call Alba, tell her we were going through with it, and then he would call Thomas. Unfortunately, when we exited the washroom, we found we had missed an equally important conversation in the other room.

The second I stepped out of the washroom, my mother was screaming at me.

"Cortez? You have me working for the Cortezes?"

"What?"

"He called her Mrs Cortez!" Paulson stood guiltily along the wall, a piece of paper in his hand. Someone had left Mrs Cortez a message and the overeager bodyguard had to prove he was brain-dead. "You little bitch, how dare you—!"

"Grant!" With one bellowed word, Bryce summoned the body guard between my mother and I. "I want the trailer trash dead."

"Grant, stop." Thankfully, the bodyguard listened to me. The pause allowed me to turn on Bryce. "You can't kill my mother."

"I warned her and she didn't listen. So watch me."

"You can't be serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"You have to be."

"She broke our deal. She dies. End of story. She knew what she was getting into when she agreed."

And then he had both mother and daughter shouting at him.

"Do you have any idea what they did to me? They stole my husband! He sold his soul and I did nothing but watch, just watched as they took him from me. So I said no more Cortezes. My daughter was dead and I still stood by that. I'm not going to change my goddamn mind just because you think you can push me around. I never agreed to work for the Cortezes—I would never agree to that!"

"No one ever knows what they're getting into with your goddamn Cabals, otherwise no one would sign up. No one _wants _to sell their soul. They don't want to give up their families; they don't want to become useless shells of themselves because someone higher up can't be bothered to double check that the money's going to be where they said it was. They don't want to end up dead in a bathtub, but they do, because that's the only way to stop all the shit you threw at them from slowly killing them—and they never agreed to that!"

"Okay, everybody," Sean muttered. "Why don't we take deep breathes?"

"Miss Dixon?" Paige interrupted. "I might be married to a Cortez, but you can be assured that I like the Cabals as much as you do. My husband has been trying to remove himself from that world his entire life. This isn't about the Cabal. This is about a girl named Savannah. More importantly, this is about your daughter asking you to help her. This isn't about the Cabals."

"It's always about the Cabals," my mother spat. "I haven't been part of your world for years and even I know better than that. Your husband has been trying to get out? He can't. None of them can. It sounds good right up until they take everything from you. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

Paige shifted uncomfortably. Because Benecio Cortez wasn't Thomas Nast—he wasn't planning on working until the day he died. And then Lucas was going to have decide whether leaving the Cabal in the hands on his incompetent BDSM loving brother was the sort of thing he really wanted on his conscience.

"Maybe you're right," she said at last. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to give up on Savannah just yet. So please, help us."

"My grandfather will be here in half an hour," Bryce promised. "I won't have you killed in the meantime. So if you could just wait here..."

"Please?"

I sounded thirteen again, but I didn't care. If begging was what it took, then begging was what I do.

She looked at me a long time, this funhouse mirror image of me in twenty years. I couldn't read her any more. I used to think she loved me best and then I realized it was just because she didn't love Dana at all. I didn't want to know her; I couldn't make her stay.

"Double or nothing," was all she said.

"Done," Bryce agreed, so quickly it was startling. "I'll be back soon. Try and be polite."

Silence descended on the room after Bryce had left, Grant following on his heels. In the quiet, Margaret Levine spoke, in her thin, timid voice:

"Can I go home now, please?"


	36. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

* * *

Paige left to see Margaret off. Sean left to avoid the awkwardness (his excuse was that he wanted a coffee, but he practically sprinted to get it; maybe he was that much of a caffeine freak, but I doubted it). It was just me and mother alone in a room.

"I think he might have really have killed me dead," Lynsay said, tapping her talons on the wooden table.

"If he had really wanted to, you'd be dead already. He just wanted to scare you."

"Gillian?" The word was tentative, almost forgotten by her tongue. "It's not safe. Working in a personal capacity? I've heard it called lots of things, but it never ends well for the one who isn't a sorcerer."

There was no anger or condemnation. It was just a simple statement of fact; a fact I knew all too well. It almost sounded like she was saying it to be helpful, so I replied calmly.

"It's a little more complicated than that. A lot more complicated than that."

"It just feels that way. It's not very complicated at all. The Cabals—nah. _Men_ make it very simple. You do it their way, or you have to get lost. And you never end up liking their way."

"I know."

The silence returned, but it was almost comfortable now. Don't ask me how that happened. I stuck to fiddling with the buttons on my blouse and wondering what Thomas would say. Would he rather have the heir, or just get rid of me? Bryce wouldn't like it if Thomas asked him to take care of it; he had almost bit my head off, and we both knew I was speaking in the abstract. What would he do if he thought his grandfather would ask him to abort...I still did not get why he chose that to be religious about. It just didn't make sense. Not with Savannah around.

Eve Levine had been powerful, but it still didn't make sense that she had kept Savannah. Cabal bastards were a bad idea—just ask Lucas Cortez. In Savannah's case it had helped no one had ever really knew for certain. If Eve was with Kristof now maybe it had been more to her than that, back then, but I still didn't get it. Maybe she had just really wanted kids...

"Mom?" It was strange to say, but familiar too. "They didn't steal Daddy. He just didn't want you anymore."

"I know."

The large room almost swallowed her whispered statement, but I heard her anyway. She didn't leave it at that. Her voice was louder when she spoke again.

"But why was I always the bad mother? We tried to be nice to you, but you kept throwing it in our faces. You never forgave me for leaving your father even though he left me first. He left me _years_ before I walked out so how come you blamed me for everything? Acting out, staying away all night, stumbling home drunk, walking around the house in those stupid see-through shirts and then complaining about him. You never appreciated all the shit I had to put up with just to put a roof over your head. Why couldn't you stop blaming me?"

Something inside me broke as she said that. Tears prickled my eyes, but I managed to choke out, "That wasn't me. Don't you remember? I was trying so hard...I never said anything about the smoking and I covered for him all those times he couldn't go to work because he was drunk. I even let him pinch my cheeks even though Dana said...can't you remember?

I don't think she could. We always looked too much alike, Dana and I. She couldn't tell, not even in her memories.

"I never said anything because I got it. I knew Daddy never came after us. I understood. I tried to help. But why couldn't you make Dana see?"

Everything became blurred, and I furiously blinked the tears from my eyes. Why had it been so hard? Dana was always angry, always crying. I had been happy—with my imagination even the sting of taking charity wasn't so bad. So why didn't Dana think it was enough? I remember Dana screaming, throwing empty beer bottles to the ground, telling Mom to get rid of the bastard. He never did anything but make suggestive comments—I was sure of it because Dana made a point of telling me his every sin—but Mom had let him stay, keeping him around until Dana couldn't stand it. Until Dana had come home one night, half drunk and throwing clothes into a bag, despite my pleas. And Dana had walked out and never noticed.

But I couldn't hate Dana for leaving. I never had been able to. It was easier to blame him and his constant leer, easier to blame Lynsay for sitting in the bathroom and ignoring her daughters, even easier to blame Randy for just not being there. It was easier to blame the whole world for not making Dana stay than to think for an instant that Dana deserved even part of the blame for leaving.

It was easier to blame my thirteen year old self for not doing enough to stop her, for not wrapping myself around her leg until she calmed down. I would rather do that than speak a word against her, so I blamed myself for years and years. And now I placed the guilt around my mother's neck because I was so tired of carrying it all the time.

"Why didn't you make Dana stay?"

The fight had left my mother a long time ago, leaving her a tired old woman in bright colours and a skirt that was a couple inches too short for a person of her age. "Sugar, you know I ain't never been any good at getting someone to love me. I wasn't—I didn't know what to do with her."

"Couldn't you have done something? Anything? She just wanted..." But I didn't know. I had never known and then she was dead.

"Maybe. And that's on me." She sighed. "I don't know what you're Daddy told you, Gillian, but it wasn't ever your fault. It was his and mine and hers and some really rotten luck. She would have come back—I did, when I left home the first time. And she was her Daddy's girl. It took him years before he stopped coming home every time he left me. She would have come back to us."

"No. I don't think she would have."

"She loved you," Lynsay insisted. "She would have come back."

Once again, my mother was wrong.

"Why couldn't we go see her? Just one last time?"

"You think they offered to pay, you think again. I couldn't afford it." The bravado faded. "What would have been the point? She wouldn't've wanted me there; she would have wanted her Daddy, maybe, but not me. Would have made her furious to see me. Wouldn't have wanted me even in the same city—and I sure as hell couldn't send you by yourself."

"No, I suppose not."

"And I was still so...so damn _mad _at her for leaving that way, I couldn't—I couldn't. I know I should've gone, but I was just so mad. By the time I wasn't..."

It had been far too late for a long time, by then.

"We should have made her stay."

"Oh, sugar," she sighed. "Gillian, if I have learned anything in my life—and I know you don't think I have, and maybe you're right—but if I have, it's that you can't make people do the things you want 'em to do. Not for long, anyhow."

* * *

Bryce came in twenty-seven minutes later looking angrier than usual—and with a look of hard won triumph on his face. He sank into one of the chairs set up along the wall and announced: "He should be here in five minutes. Where's everyone else?"

"Paulson?" I called. The bodyguard entered quickly. "Could you please find Paige and Sean and tell them they can come back now?"

He nodded. I could hear Grant disappearing, summoning the others. My mother excused herself to use the washroom, with more subtly than Sean had displayed. Weird as it was, I was grateful to her.

"You look worse than terrible," I said as I settled myself on his lap. It took a moment, but his arm wrapped around my waist. "So what's the story?"

"It's not that bad," he said with a shrug, convincing himself more than me. "I was thinking it would be a lot worse."

"Bryce..."

"The two of you are overruling me. He obviously would rather kill himself than have anything to do with witches ever again. You don't want the hassle of having a Cabal bastard. And I—well, he wouldn't have believed it if I had gone along with it, so when he gets here—"

"You have to pretend to be hopelessly in love with me." I couldn't help grinning, even if I was doing it more to cheer him up than because I found it funny. "You have to be all sappy and sweet and—oh! You should write me a poem."

"Shut up, Gillian. We could also play it that I just want you gone."

"The only way you'd let anyone do something their way instead of your way was if it really was your way in the first place." Duh. "That means you have to benefit from this arrangement; seeing as it goes against your inexplicable religious beliefs—"

"It's not a religion thing," he snapped. "It's...okay, so it's partially a religious thing. But I believe because...it's family. You just don't do that to your flesh and blood."

"Okay," I said quietly. My father killed himself on the day of my first big meet at UCLA, so I'd take Bryce's word that there were some things you didn't do to your family. "Whatever your reasons are, you clearly value them. You wouldn't agree to change your mind for a bimbo you hate."

"But I would if I wanted to keep you for after." Smart boy. "Damn. You're probably right. No wonder Grandpa wants you gone so fast. There's nothing worse to him than the sin of possibly being happy."

"Bryce...he's got to know by now that I'm associated with the Cortezes. The fact I'm leveraging this against him means I'm just with you for what it'll get me. He's trying to be...he just wants you not to get stuck with a gold-digging whore. That's all."

"You're not a gold-digging whore."

"Why, thank you. But Thomas thinks I am. He's just doing it to protect you."

"Don't do that, Gillian. It's creepy hearing you defend Grandpa. And having you be nice to me is just scary."

"Why did you try and kill my mother?"

"What?"

I laughed at his confusion. "What deal did she break? You lied to her first."

"People aren't allowed to talk to me like that."

"I do."

"But you do it in your indoor voice."

Even the not-so brief kiss could distract me. "You told her to be nice, or at least polite. Ordered her, more like. As part of your deal."

"I told her a lot of things."

"Okay. Sure." He glared, which just made me giggle harder. He was a little bit of an idiot to think my mother could have an entire conversation without insulting me, but I was still grateful he had tried. "Just so we're clear, you started it, Bryce. Not me."

There was a sharp knock on the door, which meant I was standing up by the time Grant ushered Paige and Sean into the room. They were surprised to hear that Thomas was coming, but they never verbalized their curiosity, and for that, I was grateful.

* * *

Thomas Nast arrived exactly when Bryce had said he would, knocking once on the door. Sean went to open it and I'm pretty sure he warned his grandfather to behave, because it was another moment before Thomas walked into the room. He had probably just gotten out of meeting and didn't look happy at all to be here. But at least he had shown up.

Sean began to explain the spell carefully as Thomas listened with half an ear, still examining his surroundings with overt disgust. My mother took a step closer to me and said only partially under her breath, "Ain't he pleased with himself."

Thomas glanced up and didn't appear happy. "Are the witches required for this procedure or are they here merely to be bothersome?"

"We're going to wait outside until you learn the spell," I said quickly, grabbing my mother's arm before she could say something else. "Just come and get us when you're done."

Paige understood it was the only thing to do and followed me out. It may have been a retreat, but at least it was a strategic one. We needed Thomas to cooperate. There was no sense in angering him until later. That didn't mean I liked it, or him. I had only defended him to get Bryce to stop scowling for a second. But I knew when I wasn't strong enough to go on the offensive and I wasn't about to jeopardize my chances of helping Savannah.

"What the hell is wrong with that sorcerer?" Lynsay demanded.

"He can get worse," I assured her.

"Gillian?" Paige asked. "Why did he agree to come?"

"Because he likes me so much?"

"He know you're with his grandson?"

I stared at Lynsay. I don't know why her bluntness surprised me. When she knew something she wasn't supposed to know—and she was worse than my all-hearing father at figuring out what she shouldn't—she never could stop herself from blurting it out.

"Since I'm not technically with his grandson..." I blushed and finally told Paige, "He's here sort of to make sure that doesn't happen."

"I thought you said you had only known Bryce for a week?"

"We're keeping that part on the down low," I admitted. "Really, really down low, Paige. As in...you might not want to repeat that fact if you don't want us all killed."

Her face lost a little of its colour. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Where was the fun in that?

It didn't take long for Thomas Nast to learn the ritual. We were brought back into the conference room. We all took our places in silence, Thomas on my right-hand side.

"Would've thought you could afford surgery to remove that stick from your ass," Lynsay said to the Nast CEO.

Thomas flushed, completely offended, but Bryce cut him off. "He's not saying anything unless it's the spell. So there's no use trying to talk to him."

Thank goodness for small mercies. I began the ritual. It was the third time, so if ever magic numbers were to come into play, this would be it. The second Lynsay and Thomas joined in, I knew it was going to work. I could feel the difference in the power. This time it would work and I would get to talk to Savannah. As we held hands and I cast, drawing on the combined power, the fourth candle quickly burst into flame. It was really going to—

My mind was jolted away from the stream of thoughts, wretched with such force I collapsed, falling onto my mother. Talons dug into my shoulder as I heard her shriek, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Paige was beside me, ruining the circle. She was dabbing a cloth against my nose—it was bleeding again and I couldn't seem to stop shaking. Faintly, I could hear Thomas defending himself, "You're the one who broke the spell."

"You weren't supposed to do that," my mother said.

My vision was still blurry but I pushed Paige away from me and climbed out of my mother's lap, holding the tissue to my nose. Thomas was a faint pale shape but I knew he was glaring. That's what sorcerers like him did after all. Mopping up the blood, all I did was smile. "It was working. Should we try again?"

"What went wrong?" Paige asked.

My mother was glaring at Thomas and his grandsons seemed to follow her lead. I intervened. "He just needs to stop thinking so loudly. Otherwise, I'm picking up too much of him and not enough of her."

Sean spoke up. "We need you to try and remain calm, Grandpa."

"I heard the witch," Thomas snapped. His eyes were still on me. He had the same blue eyes as Savannah, as Sean, as Kristof had apparently had. They were bright, distinctive eyes. I wondered if he knew Savannah shared them? Of course he did; that's why he hated her so badly.

"Let's try again, shall we?"

I got a little further this time. Almost like I had stuck my head through a door and yelled, "Savan—" And then it completely overpowered me.

It wasn't just the buzzing that had accompanied Lynsay and Margaret. I could have handled that. For some reason, it sounded like Thomas got his very own loudspeaker and a powerpoint presentation. It was a whole lifetime's worth of people, shoved into my head. And not just pictures. The feelings that came with them. It was agonizing—people shouldn't be allowed to feel. It was worse than being hit with Savannah's memories. Those at least I could understand, put a name to. These were flashing through my mind too fast, in short, powerful bursts, like I was getting shot in the chest over and over.

And then it was over. Then it started to make sense.

I pushed myself away from whoever was holding me and muttered, "I'm going to hurl."

One second I was surrounded by salt, and then next there was a toilet. I aimed for it, grateful. And once I had stopped, and the tears had been wiped away I turned to Grant. "You really are the best."

"I try," he said. "I wish—" But the door opened and one extremely loud witch and another worried one walked through. Grant shrugged and called out, "We're at the back."

The stall door was pushed open, but I had sat up in time. I looked a little haggard, maybe, but not nearly as bad as I had only moments before. "I'm fine. Is he going to stop yet?"

Paige sighed as Lynsay fussed with my hair. Grant disappeared and returned with a water bottle as Paige explained, "I don't think he's doing it on purpose."

If he had given his word, he wouldn't go back on it. I knew that instinctively, because I didn't think he would dare risk giving Bryce control over his own life. That was the way to disaster.

"What did I tell you about the bulimia?"

I looked up to see Bryce was standing behind Paige. Just what I wanted, an audience. I stood up, pretending I didn't need the arm around my waist that Grant provided. "Blah, blah, not attractive. And for the hundredth time, I'm not bulimic."

"Hey, you told me to listen to my sister. You can't complain if you don't like what she says."

"I am not bulimic," I told my mother.

"Sure, sugar. Because you used to count those calories because you liked math."

"The heavier you are, the harder it is to throw yourself through the air and could we really not talk about this?" I glared at Bryce, this clearly being all his fault. "Is your grandfather going to behave?"

"He very much needs this to work," Bryce said. "That doesn't mean he can stop."

"What is he even doing?" Paige demanded.

"He's terrified," Lynsay answered. Bryce didn't like that, not at all, and even I wasn't enjoying it nearly as much as I should. "And furious. He doesn't like failing, but he's scared he...I don't know. I don't like this magic stuff."

She shivered, trying to look defiant. It had been bad, in his head; it might have made me feel sorry for him, but it also didn't help.

"Grant? How do I get them to stop?"

"You don't."

Not quite the answer I was looking for. He must have sensed my frustration, because he continued.

"Get him planning. Something that needs calm and rational thinking. Maybe grid searches, or budget plans for the rescue operation, or something. Numbers."

"That's—" Bryce stopped and glared at his bodyguard. "Since when did you actually become helpful?"

"Since I realized I am never going to be able to quit, sir."

"Quit, for all I care. I would still have Paulson."

The two men grinned at each other, though they both seemed a little sad, and Grant left my side, following Bryce out of the washroom. Paige took Grant's place and we followed my mother out of the room as well. Thomas Nast was talking to Sean, his face bright red. Bryce went over and interrupted, trying to get Thomas to focus on something that wasn't the desire to throttle me. Thomas protested but eventually calmed down. Paige cast a calming spell on me and I sat down in a chair to recover.

It was a long while later before Thomas walked over to me. "I'm ready."

The salt lines had been redrawn and my mother was adjusting the candles. The sight made me want to smile, though I tried not to. It wasn't going to last, I shouldn't get my hopes up, thinking maybe it would be different. I shouldn't want it to be different. But I did, and those treacherous hopes started rising all the same. I really was an idiot.

As so we did it one last time. There was still a lot more influx from Thomas than I would have liked, but I could feel him trying. There was a still a loud buzz of annoyance but it wasn't overwhelming like before. But at least with him consciously trying to restrain his emotions and memories, I could proceed with only a little bit of a headache.

"Savannah," I called into the darkness. "Savannah!"

And this time she answered.

* * *

"Took you freaking long enough. You didn't stop and screw my brother, again, did you?"

I sighed. "This isn't exactly a private conversation, Savannah, so could we save the inappropriate jokes for another time, please? Great."

I could feel her mentally shouldering me aside as she examined the people supporting me. She was too powerful for me to stop her. A loud chuckle rang out. "How the hell did you manage to get Thomas Nast to help out?"

"I'll tell you when you come back. You want to let me know what's happening to you so Paige can ride to the rescue?"

"Who else have you got there?" she continued, ignoring me. "Shit. You got Mommy Dearest helping? You got desperate pretty fast."

"Shut up," I told her firmly. "You're supposed to be untouchable. And you have a lot of powerful friends. The werewolves are sweeping L.A. for your scent, the vampires for your life-force, and I think there's even a shaman around somewhere."

"Awesome. I knew Paige would figure something out. It pisses me off having to be the damsel in distress but I've tried everything I know. They've got this place rigged up pretty tightly."

"They're Cabal employees. They know how to hold supernaturals hostage," I said with a shrug. "So how about you tell me everything we don't already know."

"Okay, so there's the guy. I think there's four of them, but there could be even more."

"Four? We thought there was only one."

"There is. There's just four of him. At least, I'm pretty sure it's the same guy. They have the same voice, same mannerisms—even their hands feel the same. Mostly."

For all his research on the time tear, Leech couldn't have figured out it allowed you to make copies of yourself? What was the point of all that guilt if he couldn't put it to good use?

"Creepy," I muttered. "So just the guy?"

"And a woman with a spell. She was the woman with Yi, when I got thrown into the other dimension. Women, I should say. She was all three of them, though it took me a while to recognize her. She's such a bitch. But annoying her helps pass the time."

I sent her a mental picture of Edmund and Mariah Eisenberg, the only times I had seen them. Edmund at the club, Mariah near the end of the party. It didn't take Savannah long to agree that these were our culprits. I tried to keep the mental gloating to a minimum, but I think Thomas couldn't help but sense it. Oh well.

She sent me a picture of her surroundings next and they made me depressed. It was a small room, smaller than the closet I called my bedroom. There was nothing in the metal box except for a bucket and a blanket and an unlit light bulb. And a state of the art door. A storage container? I stared longest at the door, in case its instillation proved important. "I haven't had anyone to talk to in days, and I'm bored out of my mind. There's nothing in this damn room. I'm going nuts in here, Gillian."

"Take me through what happened," I asked her. "So you're walking with Leech to your car..."

"Yeah, by the way? Dude is seriously hooked up—he fucking knew everyone at that place. So we're going to the car and the bitch calls out after him. He smiles and I think everything's all great and then she starts pulling him away. I'm ten feet away from the car—max—so I wave good bye. The second they turn around—and I'm talking like the second, the fucking millisecond—the guy comes out of nowhere and before I can say anything he hits me on the head."

"How long did they torture you for?"

"You know about that? How—did you feel that?" Savannah swore. "Sorry about that."

"I didn't feel anything, just saw it and woke up screaming bloody murder. After the first night it died down somewhat. Now I only get flashes and feelings. Just enough to know you're alive."

"Alive and kicking," she promised. "They just did it the first day or so, mostly to scare me. They give me water, but not much food. They're kind of afraid of me." I could feel the pride in her voice. "They think they won't be able to hold me if I'm up to full strength."

"You know why they want you?"

"Oh yeah. They explained it pretty early on. They have this spell that they want me to do. The sorcerer—ers, whatever—they're not powerful enough. They don't feed me unless I've proved I've remembered at least part of the spell."

"How fast did you learn it?"

"It actually took me most of the second day—it's pretty fucking hard. 'Course they still think I'm stuck on the third line." That was my girl. "It actually seemed sort of familiar."

She sent the spell through to me. It took me half a line before I started to freak. It was the same spell I had been thinking of. "That was in Yi's grimoire. Do you have any idea what it does?"

"No idea. I don't even recognize the language. What is it?"

"Healing spell." That I was managing to pull off these lies even with Thomas in my head said something not so great about me. "Have they shown you the kid?"

"Kid?"

That would be a no.

"Supposedly, they had a son that died. We think they used the time tear to bring him back and are going to use you to heal him."

"Never seen or heard a kid, though I can't hear much outside this room. But I'll tell you if they show him to me."

"Hopefully. I might not be able to use this spell again, though—which I totally came up with, by the way. It's a mish-mash of some healing/communication stuff I found."

"Neat. You teaching me once I get out."

"Totally." Thomas's noise began to grow so I got back on topic. "Anyway, this might be a onetime only thing since my mom's going home. But I'll try. Maybe I'll find another spell or something. Or maybe we should try a communication spell at the same time."

"Tomorrow good for you? Because I think my schedule is free."

"Sounds perfect. Did anyone sit you down and explain when you have to learn the spell by?"

"I have no idea. They do have my progress carefully plotted out and it's only when I don't meet it that they really start to get pissed, so there must be. But they haven't actually said. What with me being their prisoner and all, I don't think they're going to be all that forthcoming."

"Could you save the sarcasm for when I'm not trying to save your life? Geez. Hang on a sec, will you? I'm going to tell Paige all of this and then see what else she wants to know."

I pulled away from her slightly and tried to speak my next words out loud. I couldn't feel my mouth moving, but the information was uttered, in a strange mix of southern twang and Ivy League accent. So Thomas Nast had been reduced to talking for a witch. Neat.

"That's fucked up," I could hear Bryce mutter. Paige was a little more professional asking me some questions that might help her figure out where Savannah was located.

Not that Savannah had any helpful responses. Eventually, she just settled for ranting: "I have no fucking idea. I was unconscious when they brought me here and I've been stuck in this damn room the whole time. I haven't showered in days—I fucking reek. They brought me jeans and a shirt and that was about it. I only saw them the first day when they were using the cattle prods. Hell, there could be more of them for all I know."

"There's nothing you've noticed?"

"There's not even a fucking window. God, I hate this!"

Her anger overwhelmed everything and for a moment I was swept away in the sensation, lost in a sea of frustration, isolation and fear. She couldn't get herself out of there, and she didn't know how to let us help her. As I struggled to regain control, she ranted silently, a tantrum in her mind that only I could hear.

Eventually, it subsided. "Feel better now?"

Savannah gave a mental shrug. "Doesn't change the fact there's nothing I can do in here. Fuck. There's got to be something...I think I might be underground. It sort of smells dank and the air's kind of funny. I wish there was more I could give you...I've tried faking sickness, but they didn't even come close enough to take a look."

"There's always fake suicide," I suggested. "Like how they do in movies. Since they don't want you to die, they'll have to try and help."

"Do you see anything in this room that could be used as a weapon? The blanket doesn't even rip, it's made of yarn. How fucking annoying is that"

"You'll think of something," I tried to reassure her. "You always do."

"True." Since there was nothing else for her to do, she started bugging me. "You have been looking for me exclusively for the past couple of days, haven't you?"

"It has been not be fun with you gone. Paige is freaked, Sean is freaked and Mr Cortez almost got himself killed. Hey, did you notice them acting weird two days ago? Sometime around supper?"

"They're always weird. I don't think so. Why?"

"They were trying to do some sort of protection spell, we think. We stopped it but we still haven't figured out why."

"That's slightly unhelpful." Since she couldn't interfere with the investigation, she decided to interfere with my life. "How in the world did you get your mother there?"

"I do not want to know. Just remember she can hear you." That was stupid. It was just daring her to say...

"Good. I can finally tell her what a shitty job she did. Hey, Gillian's mom, you—"

"Savannah! This communication spell won't work without her, so you need to shut up. I get that you're bored but you can insult my mother another time, okay?"

"Gillian..." she whined, "I can't do anything. And you're starting to fade out."

Exhaustion had been creeping up on me the whole time. I was now scrapping dangerously low on power. I don't know why I hadn't collapsed just yet, but I wasn't planning on breaking the connection between us until I had to.

"Sorry. I guess we don't have much time left. I'm sorry."

"You should do the spell again. Thomas has to help. It's his wacky ass employees that are holding me hostage. Lucas should threaten to say they're acting on his orders. That should get him listening. The Cortezes are the most powerful after all."

"Yeah, you can threaten Thomas Nast. I'm going to not get myself killed," I told her. But I would pass along her message. "You stay alive until Paige can rescue you, okay?"

"Damn straight." Savannah went quiet for a moment. "Get me out of here soon, okay?"

"I'm doing everything I can," I reassured her. "And even a bunch of stuff I can't. I almost drowned for you."

"Well, I'm worth it."

"Obviously."

We said our goodbyes and she gave me a few messages to pass along. Then we cut the spell. The world came into sharp focus, colours that pounded into my head until I longed for the black once more. I saw my mother's bleached blonde hair, heard a voice asking if I was all right...and then I got my wish. The darkness overtook me.

* * *

When I woke up, I could hear incessant chattering, voices arguing loudly in the background. I cautiously opened one eye. I found that was lying on the conference table we had pushed to the side, Paulson seated at the chair nearby. He winked and said in a lowered voice, "I'm supposed to tell them when you wake up, but they're almost finished."

"What's going on?" I asked, barely speaking at all. He would hear me no matter what. He did.

"You ended the spell and passed out, which completely freaked out everyone. Paige even accused Thomas of sabotaging everything on purpose and he took that personally, of course. The two went back and forth for a little bit and he shut her up by announcing he was going to help."

"Help?" I said, probably louder than I should have considering I was pretending to be unconscious. But no one came over to us, so I was safe to gather myself in private. So Bryce really had gotten everything we had wanted. Good. Now I just had to stop worrying that this scheme was going to get me killed.

"That's what everyone else said. And then you're mother said something about it being his responsibility which offended him so Bryce sent her back to her hotel room. She asked to be informed if you were all right and wanted someone to ask you to call her once Savannah was found and you had time. In case anyone else forgets—" or decided that was something I didn't need to know "—there you go. Once that was taken care of, Thomas related most of your conversation, which I think everyone else wants you to confirm."

"Most of it?"

"He refused to pass along her personal messages, saying something about 'tasteless teenage vulgarities' and he left out anything about her emotional well-being, which is what Paige really wanted to know about. Then they reluctantly agreed to accept his help. They're just trying to work out the logistics of a co-Cabal task force."

"Which always works out well." Dana's attacker would still be out there if Paige had relied on the joint Cabal special forces.

"It doesn't help that every so often Thomas finds out another thing his grandsons have already done for Savannah and loses it. But I think they're almost done now."

"Good. Wake me up when it's over?"

"That's what I'm here for," Paulson said. "That and getting coffee."

"You do it very well," I promised and then closed my eyes.

Eventually the noise around me stilled. I could still hear all four of them in the room, but the yelling had stopped so I figured the technical aspects had been worked out. Nodding once to Paulson, he called out quietly, "Sorry to disturb you, Mrs Cortez, but I think she's waking up."

I heard brisk footsteps and then I felt Paige beside me. A hand ran through my hair, gently pressing it back. "Gillian, how are you feeling?" Paige asked.

"Good," I lied, pushing myself up from the table. I swayed a little, but Paige managed to catch me by the upper arms and stopped me from crashing head first into the table.

I pushed through the random bouts of dizziness and retold them my conversation with Savannah. Every so often Thomas's Nast smug face told me he already covered that part of the conversation, but no one said anything, not even when I got confused and started repeating something. I managed to correct myself—eventually—and got the whole thing out without blacking out again.

"And she said she loved you and Mr Cortez, but only if you rescue her and promise not to be mad when you do," I finished talking to Paige. She nodded, eyes tearing as I turned to deliver a less demanding declaration of love to Sean.

"I'm sorry I couldn't track her better. I do think she's still in California."

"We'll keep that in mind," Paige gave a small smile. She already had so much on her mind that I hated to add to it. "We should go."

"Paige, our men can bring Gillian upstairs. You can join your husband," Sean said quietly.

"He's right, Paige. I'll be fine."

"Lucas can hold down the fort for a little while longer," Paige assured them. "Come on, Gillian, let's go." She helped me to my feet, arm around my waist as we made our way out of the boardroom. She called back something technical to the Nasts and when someone agreed her business was finished. I could hear heavy footsteps behind us, Paulson on the job as usual.

"Where is he going?" Thomas demanded.

I had never seen Bryce back down before, but this time he called out an order and Paulson stopped. There were only Cortez guards around me as I made my way down the hall, leaning against Paige. But that was alright, because the Nasts didn't owe me anything.

Still, I was more amused than surprised when Grant appeared suddenly inside the elevator car, tonelessly informing there that he was with full Nast authorization and then smirking just a little when he added we just shouldn't mention this to Thomas. I nodded and then blacked out again.

* * *

I woke up briefly as Grant was carrying me inside. He was a lot stronger than I gave him credit for, since I had just sort of assumed he was the brains of all the operations and his partners were the muscle. But he carried me easily, like I was child. There was a little bit of shame at the thought, but it was squashed quickly by complete exhaustion. Then I was asleep again. The spell had drained me more than I thought.

When I woke up later, Paige was in a chair beside the bed. She was talking quietly to Bryce, who wasn't being subtle about his desire to see her gone. He could be very impolite when he wanted to be—and I didn't want him to just bully Paige out. I tried to sit up, but nothing much happened besides a slight movement of my hand. It was enough. The voices quieted.

"Gillian," Paige said quietly. "Are you awake?"

"I'm fine," I told her, eyes struggling to open.

She sighed and then whispered, "I'm going to join Lucas. If you need anything, anything at all, please call."

"She's not going to die," Bryce snapped. "She'll be fine."

"Be nice," I muttered.

"Never." I felt a hand brush my hip. "Go back to sleep. It'll be easier to convince her you're going to live if you didn't sound so horrible."

"Okay," I agreed, closing my eyes and letting sleep claim me once again.

* * *

No one was around when I woke up, but the clock read sometime around seven. There was a tray on the desk and opening it up I saw that someone had taken the liberty of ordering dinner for me. I started at the cheesecakes and fries and couldn't help smiling. Not that I was going to eat it, but it had been a good try.

The food was expensive looking, so I picked at a little, to show I appreciated the gesture. Once that was done, I hit the books. The Cabals had their resources and I had mine. Somewhere in the mess of ancient magic there was an explanation, one that would help us stop them. Somewhere. If I could only find it.

Time and time again I found myself studying Yi's grimoire, rereading the spell Savannah had been told to perform. Sometimes I found myself trying to learn it, other times I was judging the strength needed to perform it. I kept assuming it was a healing spell because the rest of them were, and it made more sense to kidnap a witch for a healing spell, but even that I didn't know for sure. I couldn't read it. Healing spells were so draining because you were playing God, and if it was easy everyone would be doing it. There had to be a price for taking on death and the more defiant you were the higher the price. There was no way to test just how much this would drain Savannah.

So I researched as the light faded from the sky, as my fries cooled. There had to be answers, if you looked hard enough. If you endured, I had discovered, things would change (not always for the better, but definitely change). All you had to do was keep at it.

I had started in on some ancient shaman text when there was a knock on the door. Grant moved quickly to answer it and I let myself stay sitting because whoever it was, this was more important. If Savannah could offer them a safe alternative to the spell, it might buy her more time until the Cortez-Nast force could find her. That would be my only contribution at this point, but at least it was something.

I didn't bother looking up, not even when someone sat down on the armrest, blocking out my light. "Move, Bryce."

"Did you bother to recuperate or did you go straight to the books?"

"What do you think?"

"Did you eat something at least?" He didn't even wait for an answer, just pulled the book from my hand and began looking at it. "These seem sort of..."

"Easy? They are. It's background reading for something I want to try adding to a more complex sorcerer spell. You want to help?"

"Believe it or not, I actually have a job." He gestured to the briefcase at his feet that I hadn't noticed. "I'll help you once I'm finished."

"You could just stop doing your job."

"I know," he admitted. "But on the off chance you're right and Grandpa's not just being a bastard for the hell of it, I just can't...."

He would be making excuses for the old man until the day he died, but it's not like I could change that.

"Is there a reason you're blocking my light?" I asked.

"The she-devil didn't have anything to say to me?"

"Would you care if she did?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

I found myself blushing, just a little bit. "She said that you still owe for that time she called off the investigation of Foras. And that you better pay to fix her house."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"Liar." I was bright red at this point and he chuckled. "Tell me. What else did she say? Was it that bad?"

"Your grandfather was listening. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? I think he almost had a heart attack, and then he tried to mentally strangle her. And you don't care. Fine." I sat up in the chair and tried to stare him down. It didn't work. "She said to tell you to buy some leather cuffs, because feeling it around my wrists always gets me hot."

For a moment, it was silent as he considered. Then: "Fuck. I think I might actually like her now. She really said that in front of Grandpa?"

"Screw you," I muttered, going back to my book.

He laughed and finally stood up. "Is it true?"

"Go to hell."

"Glad to hear it," he laughed to himself as he went to work.


	37. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

* * *

I watched as the people in the crowd bustled and pushed each other trying to get through the lecture hall doors. Even if I didn't have two hundred pounds of pure disapproval at my shoulder, I never would have joined in the fuss—the joys of being small. Normally, I would have found someone to talk to until the worst of the crowd was gone. It wasn't against the rules (despite the hundred or so that existed) for me to talk to Grant, but he had been in a quiet mood all day and I didn't want to push him, so we just stood there.

The auditorium was almost empty when I heard someone call my name. Grant tensed instinctively, but I shook my head slightly to let him know it was safe. The girl coming up to me wasn't a threat, though her presence was far welcome.

"Hey, Debbie," I said, plastering a smile on my face. I may have detested this world at the moment, but once this was all over, I had to come back. Paige insisted school came first and while Bryce had offered to buy off my professors I actually did want to learn the material. And Paige had overheard him and been so appalled that I didn't have the heart to say yes.

Which meant playing nice. Damn.

"It feels like I haven't seen you in ages," Debbie said, throwing her arms around me. I caught Grant's eye and glared when he rolled his eyes. If he didn't like college girls, he should have stuck Paulson on guard-Gillian-duty. Paulson would have enjoyed meeting all my friends.

"I've been kind of keeping a low profile ever since..." I let my voice trail off. But referencing Tia's disappearance had the desired effect. Debbie looked immediately ashamed.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I heard they couldn't reach you in time for the memorial."

Everyone knew I had gone out with Tia that night; they also knew I had taken off before the night was out, leaving her behind. It was the truth, even though no one knew why I had fallen off the grid for the past week. The shock I faked when I heard she died had apparently been convincing enough that they thought I had just disappeared into Gillian world, which they were all a little too scared to ask about. I got lucky; most people didn't blame me. They just thought taking off was what I did—which could be why they weren't surprised when I announced they might not see me around because I was going to be living in a hotel with some guy I had just met.

"Yeah, it sucked. Did you go? How was it?"

Debbie prattled on as we exited the auditorium. The only reason I was here (besides Paige, of course) was so I could hunt down all the language professors during my break. Someone had to know what language Yi's spell was written in.

Someone had sort of known. How helpful she had been was debatable, but at least I had a direction to go in.

"So who's your friend?" Debbie asked after awhile. Grant was still standing at my elbow, not saying a word, waiting comfortably for me to come up with whatever lie I wanted.

On some level, I understood that Bryce's insistence that I take Grant with me everywhere was just his (completely domineering control freak) way of making sure I was safe. And Grant's acceptance of these new orders meant that keeping me alive was now an essential part of his grand plan, which was a very flattering thought. But that didn't erase the fact it was difficult to explain his presence, especially since he had nixed my idea of telling everyone he was my boyfriend who had become uber-protective since Tia had gone missing. He said it wasn't appropriate, since he was old enough to be my father (not true, and not important, anyway, but he been too uncomfortable, so I dropped it).

"New foreign exchange student that I offered to show around," I explained. "He only speaks German."

Debbie's eyes went a little wide at the audacious lie, but she didn't dare challenge it, even if the 5'10'' dark-skinned Grant did not look like your average Aryan. Nor did he speak German; when I had tried to teach him, he had shown no interest. Still, since most people couldn't speak German and my German courses had been last term, it was a safe enough lie. Not one that would hold up under any sort of scrutiny, but most people wouldn't look that closely.

"Cool. So he can't understand anything?"

"He's learning," I said, patting his arm. Grant didn't display any emotion as I smiled at him sweetly. "You want to get coffee, catch up?"

"Sure."

I wanted to bang my head against the wall, but followed her. She didn't mind Grant tagging along, which I was grateful for, because I wasn't sure I could have come up with a reasonable excuse if she had asked. He wouldn't have left—he barely let me go to the washroom by myself. I tried not to look at my watch; I was not counting down the minutes until I could get my next update on the investigation.

* * *

"You okay?" I asked Grant as he almost fidgeted beside me as we stood in the elevator.

"Of course, Miss MacArthur."

Considering he worked for a bunch of corporate crooks, Grant was almost a bad of a liar as Bryce. "Sorry about Debbie, but she is my friend. I should have been quicker; I know being away from Bryce for this long gives you separation anxiety."

"That's not funny," Grant said, smiling.

But it was true. Grant fussed every moment he didn't have the Cabal brat in his sight. That Bryce had convinced Grant to agree to follow me instead of him was nothing short of a miracle. When we were alone (when he could be not-German), Grant was calling Paulson constantly to check up on the two of them. Considering Bryce was supposed to be at Nast Headquarters most of the day, nothing too terrible could have happened to him.

It still wasn't enough to get Grant to relax.

Paulson was guarding the door at the end of the hallway, but he was the only guard on the floor we all shared. That meant Sean and the Cortezes were still out, busy chasing leads. Which meant they still hadn't found her.

"He's busy working?" I asked Paulson, who nodded. I guess Bryce didn't want to stay in his gorgeous office. "Joy. Have you eaten anything?"

"Nope. Neither has the boss."

"You feel like chicken tonight? Steak?"

"Chicken and carrots maybe," Paulson suggested. Neither of us looked at Grant, who would think it beneath him to make his own desires known. After he had glared the first time I had asked, I had learned my lesson.

"Sounds good," I agreed. "It'll be a while. Tell me—"

"When the Cortezes are back. Got it."

"Thanks." Grant had already opened the door so all I had to do was push it open. I was a little surprised Bryce was home before me, but I didn't really see him staying at the office longer than he had to.

"You're late," he said without looking up from his computer. His suit was in a heap on the floor; how fast had he changed into his jeans? Too bad I had missed the show.

I picked up the room service menu, and meandered over to his desk, leaning up against the side. There was a glass of something beside him; a swallow told me it was Jack Daniels.

"Make sure to cover your breath up after."

The joys of being fake pregnant. "I know. I met up with a friend on campus today. We had to bond. Do you want carrots or peas tonight?"

"That better not be all you're ordering." I sat down on his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck, taking another sip in the process. Bryce kissed me and then said, "Grant hates peas. And you finished my drink."

"I'll get you another one."

As I walked over to the bar along the wall, he called, "Stay away from the scotch. I'm saving that for after."

After what? I didn't ask; I didn't want to know. "So what's the news today?"

"They found Penelope Yi's body. On our property, but it's not like we needed an excuse to be even angrier at them."

Yi, aside from being a black witch, had also been a well-respected doctor. The Eisenbergs had apparently met her when their son was still alive. After he had passed, they must have run into her again, or maybe they had hunted her down. She mentioned she might have been able to help if only...if only and the grieving parents—who had never accepted no before in their lives—had latched onto that. Did they tell Yi why they wanted the spell before she handed it over? Did it matter? They killed her when she became a liability. Because that's what Cabals did.

But we were counting on the fact that being a liability to them would make her an asset to us.

"Seriously?" I looked up from the bottle I was holding. "That's great. Are—?"

"Hollis and the Terrible Twins are on it as we speak. Jaime Vegas is helping out, too. Someone's bound to be able to talk to her."

The Terrible Twins was Bryce's oh-so affectionate nickname for the two female necros the worked directly under Hollis, Charlene Baker and Sydney Kendrick. They were apparently as dull as they looked, but powerful. It was a long shot that Yi would know where the Eisenbergs were hiding out, and an even longer shot that the Eisenbergs hadn't cursed the hell out Yi, but these were some of the best necromancers around. I had to hope.

"Good."

"Did you find out about that spell?"

He took the glass I handed him and downed it quickly as I answered, "Some Greek prof told me it might be Coptic."

"Cool."

"Not really. She said there's like only a couple hundred people worldwide who speak it. Plus, if the spell is in Coptic...that could mean it's really old. Like, Egyptian mummy old."

"What's wrong with something older?"

"Nothing, if you're talking about booze and guys. But with spells...whether the Eisenbergs are out for vengeance or to heal their son, the old ways are not going to be the fun ways. There's got to be a reason I've never seen a spell in this language before."

"You might be giving yourself too much credit." For some reason he thought that was the time to hand me his empty glass and demand another refill.

"It's not even six yet, Bryce. Pace yourself. I'm ordering dinner. Try not to pass out beforehand."

"I just meant that no matter how good you are with languages there's only so many you can know before your head explodes," he said, making his way over to the bar himself. "Wait until I've told you your mother has refused to leave the hotel before you bite my head off."

"She's still here?"

"We did promise her she could stay in a nice hotel in L.A. She doesn't want to leave this one; it's more hassle than it's worth to make her. So just stay off her floor."

Great—I could run into my mother in the lobby. "Hopefully, she'll pass out in her room so I won't have to see her."

"That's the spirit." He actually stopped pouring for half a second. "She wasn't that bad, you know."

"I've made enough excuses for her. You don't have to start."

"I wasn't making excuses. She wasn't exactly easy to buy off." His voice got softer, "But she did make sure to tell me to stay the hell away from you and considering how terrified she was of me, it was pretty impressive. That's all. I'll still have her killed anytime you want."

I knew I should have been freaked out at his casual offer, but I chose to find it sweet, instead. Because I was insane, but still.

"Thanks. I'm never going to take you up on that, but thank you. It'll be something to hold onto when she can't stop insulting me."

"I don't know why you put up with that."

"Well, she sucks—like really, _really_ sucks at being a mom—but...she's still my mom, you know?"

"No. I wouldn't lift a finger if I thought it would help Belinda."

"Not even a pinkie?"

He laughed. "My very first memory of her was when I was ten. I was with my dad at some stupid stuffy society thing and she dropped in unexpectedly. She smelled like some stupid fruity drink; I still remember that. Anyway, she turned to me and said, 'Don't you look sweet today, Bruce.'"

The glass he brought to his lips was empty, so he just set it down on the bar as I said: "At least she was close."

"That's what I said. Dad was pissed though. Like I didn't already know she didn't give a shit about me."

"I'm surprised you haven't had her killed."

"Dad wouldn't let Grandpa," he said frankly. "Thought it would set a bad example for us, or something. Sean wouldn't do it, anyway. He's above that. And I just don't care enough about the bitch to order a hit on her."

Whatever his beliefs on forgiveness, I don't think Bryce had ever managed to extend them towards the woman who had given birth to him. His voice was too calm, too forced. Since talking about women in our lives who sucked beyond belief had left us both a little tense, so I did the only sane thing I could.

"You too drunk to get it up?"

"With a come on like that, how can I resist you?" Then he rolled his eyes and finally left the bar, informing me, "I can hold my liquor."

Whatever he was, Bryce wasn't liar.

* * *

After dinner, I started studying since I actually had work to do now that I was going to class. Bryce wasn't even pretending to feel guilty about how he was avoiding his work. He just lay on the bed and began playing with my feet, since they were on his stomach. If I lay perpendicular on the bed, the light was a lot better for reading. And I occasionally got a foot massage.

"Your toes are ridiculously small," Bryce complained. I giggled as he stroked along the bottom of my foot and then tried not to kick out when he tickled a particularly sensitive nerve.

"I'm taking that as a compliment." The silence descended over us yet again, but now my mind not on Latin texts. "Do you think I'm wasting my time with the spell?"

"What's the one rule we have, Gillian?"

"Don't go anywhere without a bodyguard? Always do as Bryce says? Always eat everything? Which one are you talking about now, Bryce?"

He threw the pillow in my face as I laughed. "I know, I know. Leave you out of the magic. You didn't use to mind."

"That was before I had to trade my first born child for the last spell you worked on."

"Fictional first born child."

"That's not what Grandpa thinks," he snapped, but he recovered quickly enough, shifting so he was lying beside me. It wasn't fair. I was trying to study and he kept breathing on my neck, kissing me just under my ear, running a hand under the sheet that was covering me, down my back, over the curve of—

"Stop it," I squeaked, rolling away from him. Sort of. I may have suddenly ended up pressed against his chest, but that was not my fault. "I need to do this before I can look at the spell."

"You are obsessed."

"I guess that answers the questions about if you think I'm wasting my time or not."

"What would you be doing instead?"

"So, I'm useless except for the useless translating I'm doing. Thanks, Bryce."

"Shut up, Gillian." He punctuated his words by trapping me under him. "I'm capable of being a jerk without you twisting my words around. I was trying to say that you're doing what you're good at. I don't get your obsession with dissecting magic, but you're too determined not to be somewhat talented at it. Even if I wish you weren't."

Because what had talking to Savannah gotten me, besides peace of mind? And it had cost him so much more than that.

"Stop distracting me so I can finish this."

He sighed and went back to playing with my feet. I couldn't believe it. If I had as much to drink as he had had during dinner, they probably would have had to pump my stomach. Bryce developed a foot fetish. And got mellow, which was weirder.

"Figure out who the world's expert in Coptic is," he said eventually. "And then tell Grant. He'll figure out how to get you in touch with them. He's good at getting through red tape."

"Thanks."

"Before you do that, though, could you...do me a favor?"

"As long as it doesn't involve my fictional second-born child."

"Funny, Gillian. Could you take Leech to breakfast tomorrow? Now that he's found out you can clone yourself or whatever by going through the time tear he feels even worse than he has lately—and he's had a shitty time the past few months."

"As long as he pays."

"That's my fake baby mama."

I couldn't help laughing.

"Gillian?"

"Is this you not distracting me? Because you suck at it, Bryce."

"What did your mom mean?"

"About what?" I tried not to sound defensive, but I'm not sure how well I succeeded. Discussing her was one thing, but discussing the things she couldn't help saying to me was quite another.

"About my grandfather. When she said he was scared. What...what did she see? I didn't think anything scared him but the thought of losing the company."

Not even half a bottle of whisky could hide the bitterness, so I tried to answer him as best as I could.

"He wasn't scared, Bryce. Not like...I'm scared of him. He was petrified. It was like being buried alive in his head."

"What did you see?"

"You're already getting all you can get out of him. I can't afford to try blackmailing him twice. Even Grant couldn't keep me safe then."

"I'm not asking you so I can blackmail him. I just want to know what scares him."

"So you can try pushing him some more?"

"So I can remind myself he's a human being and not—" Blue eyes turned away from me. "Please tell me what you saw."

"I don't know. I saw eighty years of memories in twenty seconds. Everything was sort of on super fast forward." That wasn't helping him, so I forced myself to go back, to look at the pain closer than I ever wanted to. "I think you were right, he did sleep with your secretary. She had gorgeous hair back then. Dark chestnut."

There had been blood, so much blood, and so much pain and so all I could think about was her hair, pretty dark haired girl with sad eyes and blood pooling around her, choking her, choking me so all I could think about was the blood that defined everything.

"Gillian?" When Bryce started showing that he was worried, I knew I was in trouble. Or that he was further gone than I thought. I forced myself to smile.

"I don't know what I saw Bryce. It was a mess. But whatever I felt made me feel sorry for Thomas Nast and I really, really hate that man. Can't that be enough?"

"I don't know. Did what you feel justify his decision to murder his own family to make succession just a little bit easier?"

"He's Thomas Nast. He doesn't give a shit about anyone. Why did you ever think you were special?"

Bryce finally looked at me, though he didn't seem upset with me even though I wanted to slap myself for being such a bitch. Thomas was his grandfather and it was obvious he was taking this badly. But Bryce just looked tired, not hurt.

"Maybe I should have had the scotch tonight."

Since I couldn't think of anything to say to make it better, I offered help of another kind. "If you wanted, I could call up this friend of mine. He can get you anything you need, if you give him fifteen minutes."

"You only do drugs when you're bored, idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Drugs when you're bored so they aren't ever anything but something you do for fun and booze when you're pissed, so even if you do order someone killed Grant won't listen." Rules you made for yourself because rules were all you had. "Even Grant probably couldn't kill Grandpa, but that's besides the point."

"Don't even pretend. You wouldn't hurt a hair on your grandfather's head."

"Why, though? Why should I care about him when he has no problem ordering me to—whatever. I'm going to take a shower. I have work to do."

Bryce got out of bed, then, and I turned back to my books and tried to focus on Savannah. I focused on the person I could actually help.

* * *

When Grant opened the door to reveal Leech the next morning, I wanted to gape. He looked horrible—worse than Bryce had looked when he had woken up with a killer hangover next to a witch with no sympathy. Leech didn't just look like he hadn't slept in days. More like he had been sitting alone for months slowly going out of his mind. His once clean-shaven face now sported a beard and his hair was uncombed. I bet hotel security was watching him carefully, what with the wild eyes and clothes that hadn't been washed in what I thought were weeks. I felt worse than guilty for blaming him the past couple of days. Evidently he didn't need the extra guilt.

"You look terrible," I said as I hugged him. "Are you alright?"

He nodded, but it was obvious he was lying. He was Bryce's friend, but I had always thought of him as the younger of the two. Now I could see it wasn't the case. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn he was closer to Sean's age.

"Shouldn't Bryce be at work by now?"

"He is. He wanted to wait, but duty calls." I didn't find the joke particularly funny and neither did Leech, if his wince was any indication. "You hungry? Because the food downstairs looks divine."

"Sure." He glanced back at Grant, than back at me. "So it's true?"

"What?"

With very upraised eyebrows, he gestured to my stomach. "Bryce almost bit my head off when I asked, but..."

"Hollis knows?" Hollis always seemed to be Leech's source for all the useless information he had that didn't help us at all.

"Not everyone on the board wanted to help Savannah even after Thomas ordered them to. Thomas told a few of them—just the higher ups, though. They won't tell anyone else. They...Bryce was smart to leave you with Grant. Stay close, okay?"

"Sure." What in the world had I done? Thomas better find Savannah because I was pretty sure he was going to kill me when this was all over and I wanted something to show for my stupidity.

"Hey," Leech said quietly. "You okay? Because if they're forcing you to do this..."

"Can we just go eat breakfast? The cravings haven't hit yet but I'm starving."

He agreed, his eyes filled with pity (and there was nothing I could do about that because the more people who knew the harder Grant was going to have to work to keep me safe), and we headed downstairs. We weren't the only ones of the gigantic task force that had the same idea. I saw a few werewolves and Adam sitting around a table as we entered.

I pointed out the table I wanted and waited for Grant to give his brief nod of approval—I didn't mind asking so much as I hated feeling like I was pulling rank. But that's just the way the world was working right now, so I tried to ignore the feeling. Grant didn't mind; why should I? Order would be restored, eventually.

Leech led the way to our safe location in the corner, which is why I almost broke my face on his back when he stopped abruptly in the middle of the room.

Grant placed a hand on my back as I ricocheted off the big man. "Ow," I muttered, but quietly, so as not to attract attention. "Leech?"

Ignoring me entirely, Leech abruptly turned and headed towards a table on the other side of the restaurant, where the werewolf Alpha sat with his girlfriend. Was he allowed to talk to Jaime Vegas? When I glanced at Grant, he gave me a look I was growing quite accustomed to—whatever you like, miss, just do it slowly so I can make sure it's safe.

So I meandered over to the coffee, staying close enough so I could overhear everything and interfere if it looked like Leech's state of mind was about to piss off our allies.

Not that Jaime Vegas seemed offended at being approached by an enormous stranger, just a little weary. It was her boyfriend, with his hard eyes, that made me wish I could drag Leech away. But the big man was already telling her he was a huge fan of hers and she was nodding vacantly.

Was he seriously just being a fanboy?

No, he wasn't. With more subtly than I had seen from the entire Nast family combined, he easily segued into talking about the investigation, concluding with a sincere apology for anything Hollis may have said the other night. She had to understand it was the stress of the situation, knowing the Eisenbergs had buried the body on Nast property that was putting him on edge. But he wanted her to know that he was sincerely sorry for what he had said and if there was anything she ever needed, to please feel free to ask.

"Oh," she said. She sat up a little straighter. "I didn't realize you were...one of us."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Suddenly, Leech was producing a business card. "If you ever feel he's overstepped his boundaries, or simply don't want to deal with him, please call me. The whole point of him having a personal assistant is so I can help him work on those personal skills. You'd be doing me a favor if you called.

She took it, looking grateful. Apparently, Bryce wasn't the only one who hated Hollis—it must have been the moustache.

"If you could arrange for me never to talk to him again..."

"I'll do my best, Miss Vegas. He also asked me to clarify some of the problems you encountered last night."

"He's interested in that?"

"This morning he is. Once again, Miss Vegas, you have to excuse him. Necromantic curses remind him of some unpleasant circumstances. Besides, if it wasn't a sorcerer curse, he can't report that he can get around it. I hope you can understand why that would be unpleasant for him."

Her eyes narrowed, by she seemed to like whatever she saw, because she launched into this speech that I didn't understand at all. The only thing I understood was that Erinyes was blocking her, which meant Mariah (not her husband) had cursed Yi and that meant there was nothing anyone could do to talk to her spirit.

And when she was finished, Leech blushed very prettily and asked her for an autograph.

"We are trying to eat breakfast," Jeremy said, politely, but with finality. But Jaime Vegas was still fiddling with Leech's fake business card. I think it was the thought of not having to deal with Hollis that tipped her hand.

"Who should I make it out to?" she asked.

When he pulled out a pen and a sheet of paper, he told her to make it out to Claire.

When I demanded to know what that was about, all he would say was that Hollis needed more information and Claire loved watching Jaime Vegas when she was on television. He ate five times as much as me at breakfast, so I guess he was feeling better.


	38. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

* * *

After Leech left, Grant helped me track down the world's foremost expert in Coptic without breaking a sweat. Not only did the expert take my call but he told me to use his name to contact another academic type who would be of more use to me, even if he spoke less English. The second expert was very patient—even when I had to temporarily excuse myself to laugh hysterically, because the humans I was talking to had no idea how crazy everything they were saying sounded.

They had to be wrong.

Too bad I didn't think they were.

Grant had to drag me to my classes afterwards, because I was in too much of a panic to really care where I was. I guess it was important that I go, though I started babbling in Greek during my Hebrew class and couldn't seem to stop myself. They had to have been wrong.

By the time my classes were finished, I almost desperate to ask Grant to take me to Nast headquarters—I needed Bryce to tell me I was an idiot, right that second. They had to be wrong about the spell. But I kept my mouth shut because I wasn't that crazy just yet.

Grant pulled up in front of the hotel as usual, greeting the valet in the same put-upon tone he had used every day. It usually made me laugh, seeing powerful supernaturals having to behave according to human rules even if today I could only manage half a grin. Grant could jump to the car faster than it took the valets to realize we wanted it. Yet Grant had to pretend to need help and even worse, he always had to tip.

Once he had finished with the pleasantries, Grant came over and opened the door for me. I knew better than to open the door myself, now. We were safely inside when Grant set about telling Paulson where we were, but we were no more than half way through the lobby when we spotted Paulson running down the stairs. They shouldn't have been here. Grant gave the smallest of sighs and then went to stop his subordinate from making a scene.

Paulson managed to gasp out: "Thomas is here. He wants to see her. Now."

I looked at Grant, needing some sort of permission before I could freak out completely. His face had gone ashen. Slowly, he turned to look at me, voice tight. "Shall we, miss?"

"What does this mean?" I asked as I followed the bodyguards to the elevator. The answer was rather too repulsive for me to contemplate without external confirmation.

"We won't let anything happen to you," Grant assured me he pressed the elevator doors closed. Twice. He was worried. "Thomas won't be happy. Be careful."

"I know."

The conference room was on the second floor. The Nasts must have owed the hotel a fortune at this point. Even the solid wood doors couldn't quite disguise the sound of raised voices. Grant stalked towards the doors, but stopped just before his fist made contact.

"You don't have to go in if you don't want to, Miss MacArthur. We can leave."

"He'll come back."

Grant knew; that's why he reluctantly nodded. But before he knocked, he told me: "Do not stay in that room longer than you have to, understand? I can only protect you if he physically attacks you and he doesn't have to resort to that in order to destroy you."

I knew that, too.

The voices stopped when Grant knocked and Fitz answered the door. So Sean was here, too. I slipped past the large man into the room and was more than a little relieved that he allowed Grant to follow me inside.

Thomas was seated at the head of the table, with a man I vaguely recalled from the board meeting standing behind him. Bryce was standing by the window, watching the traffic below as Sean paced along the other side of the room, his face bright red. All three men glanced at the door. Bryce blanched, Thomas turned as red as his grandson and Sean made an effort to control himself.

"I heard you were looking for me?" I asked.

Thomas gestured at the man behind him, who nodded once and then headed in my direction. Suddenly both brothers were moving—Sean headed off the man, while Bryce came around the room and silently stood beside me, hand wrapped around my bicep. Sean was talking.

"The _very_ least you could do is explain to her what's going to happen."

"She knew this would happen. She agreed," Thomas snapped.

"He's a shaman?" I asked Bryce. He was still staring at his grandfather—his eyes couldn't seem to tear themselves away from the old man—but he nodded. "Anderson."

Thomas hadn't wasted any time.

"See?" Thomas demanded. "She knows. Let's get this over with."

"No," Sean said. "We are not doing this. You can take back your goddamn help because we don't want it if this is the price. You don't—"

"Sean?" Bryce's voice was colder than I could ever remember it. "Shut up. This doesn't concern you."

"Like hell it doesn't. I won't let you—"

"Since you've been too goddamn busy taking it up the ass the past few years to give a shit about anything that goes on in my life, when I say this doesn't concern you, Sean, you should listen to me. Now be a good heir and play nice."

While Sean flinched, it was at the brutality of the comment; there was no shock on his face, only hurt. Thomas looked disgusted, but not surprised, either. The Nasts had evidentially decided playtime was over—they weren't going to pretend. Sean liked boys; Bryce had to have kids, so he obviously couldn't have them with me; Thomas wasn't going to help Savannah unless he managed to make someone else as miserable as he was and Bryce had volunteered. At least we were all on the same page.

"I believe the Cortezes requested your presence a good half hour ago," Thomas said. "If you hurry, you may still be able to assist them."

Sean stared between his two relations, betrayed, disgusted and at a loss for words. How did he still not get this was the only way to survive? If you weren't this cold, it would kill you. For the good of the company, Thomas had to demand whatever he needed from his grandsons. For the good of the company, his grandsons had to give up whatever he said. That was how it had always been, and how it always would be. For the good of the company.

Maybe Sean did get it—he managed half a smile as he turned to go.

"I'll talk to you later tonight about the San Diego gang," he said to his grandfather. "I hope you're all right, Gillian."

And then he left, slamming the door just a little bit louder than he should have.

"Anderson will deal with her now. We can wait downstairs," Thomas told his grandson.

"He can't," Bryce said. "How do we know you won't stop helping the second you get your way?"

"I gave my word. As did you, I remember. So stop stalling."

This was bad for so many reasons, reasons we couldn't exactly explain to Thomas. Since Bryce hadn't been able to talk his way out of it yet, it looked like it was up to me to figure something out.

"No," I said as firmly as I could. "Not him. Bryce promised it would be a woman. It has to be a woman, or I won't—I'm not doing this to be difficult, sir, I swear, but it has to be a woman. I'm sure he's highly qualified and whatever but—"

"Shut up, girl." So I did. I tried not to flinch but I didn't succeed and unfortunately that finally got Bryce talking. "She's not Sean. You don't get to talk to her that way."

"We both know Sean has been in denial about the reality of your situation for quite some time. I hardly see why we should be concerned about him knowing. It may even be better for you—he could always change his mind now and do what is best."

"If Sean decides to get married, I will kill him myself."

And there was no doubt that Bryce meant it. Only he was allowed to be miserable—only he was allowed to hurt Sean. If Sean tried to be a good little Cabal son and fuck whatever woman the company picked out for him, Bryce would never forgive his brother. One of them had to be remotely happy and it wasn't ever going to be Bryce.

Thomas looked a little taken aback, but quickly covered. Too smoothly, he moved on. "If that's how you feel, we better get rid of the witch. Don't you agree?"

"I promised her...I—" He finally managed to pull it together. "It has to be a woman. I'd prefer Alba. She's the only one I trust to do this without hurting her."

"I wanted this done today."

"Don't worry, Grandpa. You can commit infanticide tomorrow just as easily."

"Don't be tiresome, Bryce."

His grip on my arm had become painful, but he let go of me when he started ranting.

"Her father was nothing to the Cortezes—class E, a talentless Expiscor, who they didn't even bother to kill after he fucked up. Her mother is the most useless witch on the planet. Not that they talk at all. The only supernatural connection she has is with Savannah and she'd break that off if you gave her twenty bucks.

"She's friendless, powerless and young enough that you could turn her into anything you needed her to be. So what could you possibly object to except the fact that I said I wanted her? Why is that such a bad thing?"

"Alba is a very busy woman," Thomas snapped as he stood. "Anderson is here now; if you cared about this family you would never risk gambling its future on that kind of parasite."

"Anderson?" Bryce said. "Just so you know, my bodyguards have strict orders to kill anyone who touches Gillian without her permission. Parasite or not, Grandpa, she wants a female shaman. So get her Alba, or buy us a christening gown."

Thomas didn't say a word as he marched out, but I was very glad Grant was two feet away because I think the old man might have killed me with his own hands if given the opportunity. Anderson followed his boss out of the room and I made sure there was no way he could lunge and grab me. It was the last thing we needed right now

The three of us stood in silence for a long while, until Bryce broke it with a stream of curses that would have made Savannah proud.

"Sir?"

"Fuck him."

With that, Bryce stormed out of the room, tearing down the hall. I cringed as I heard something break (something valuable, I was sure), but Grant was already on the job. He opened the door, ordered Paulson to stay with me and then disappeared after Bryce.

"You okay?" Paulson asked.

I managed a smile. "That went well."

"They can't help being repulsive. Don't take it personally. I've learned not to." Paulson began picking up steam, having wanted to say this for months. "They just think anyone who isn't part of their tiny circle isn't be good enough. You always have to remember that about them. I've been on this job for almost six months now and Bryce has yet to say a complimentary anything about me. All I get is insulted, and from what I've overheard, he doesn't treat you much better. He treats you like crap, like his own personal toy. You don't deserve that. I don't know why you put up with it. No one on the planet gets away with the shit he does. You shouldn't let him. We shouldn't..."

"Feeling under loved much?"

"The only reason he brought me to L.A. was to try and switch me for someone else and the only reason he hasn't done that yet is because he doesn't want to piss you off. The second you take off, I'm out of a job, but you know what? I don't even care. I'm going to be so glad to get away from him."

"Then why haven't you quit already?" I couldn't quite keep the smile off of my face. Paulson's anger was no more than Bryce's usual bluster, except unlike Bryce, Paulson didn't know it was all just an act. "If you can't wait to be gone...if he can say those things about me without thinking...why do we stay?"

"We don't have options. We don't get everything handed to us."

"No. I don't think that's it. You _could_ get another job, you know. One that didn't require you to kill people for a living. It wouldn't pay as well of course, which is why you don't quit, but you could."

"At least I'm getting paid."

"That wasn't very nice." I had hit him too close to home. He knew I was right—he could leave, he was just too greedy. "I know it makes me sick that I can't function properly unless I'm connected to this world that I hate. I know that about myself. Most of the time, anyways."

"It's not our fault they've made us dependent on them."

I laughed, though I tried not to sound mean about it. Paulson wasn't trying to be amusing, he just couldn't help wanting to believe the lies we all told ourselves so we could sleep at night. The Cabals _made_ us do it. Those damn Nasts.

Why couldn't I leave? I didn't know. There was no grandfather demanding I stay—Bryce had been right to say I had no one besides Savannah, who didn't even count, in the supernatural world. So why did I cling to this world so desperately?

Shaking my head, I forced myself to move on. "Sorry about that. I think Thomas Nast has seriously messed me up. Just give me a minute, okay? You probably have to report back anyway."

He looked confused, but he really was a lousy bodyguard. When I motioned for him to go, he went. Grant was going to kill him. The second Paulson was in the elevator, I hit the stairs, running up them as quickly as I could. When in doubt, run: it was the family motto, after all. I was a little out of shape, so it winded me more than it should have, but I still made good time.

I passed Paige's floor without stopping. However much I wanted her to be, Paige wasn't Savannah. She wasn't even my mother. She was a good woman, one I would like to be like if I could, but not one I particularly got along with or one who understood me at all. Savannah could help. Paige...not so much. What could Paige say? She wouldn't say I should have known better—she was too kind for that. And I didn't want her pity, because this wasn't her world, not really, and she would never understand why I couldn't leave it.

I continued up the stairs. The roof seemed like a good place to hide. A spell got rid of the alarms on the door and I pushed my way outside.

It was a smoggy, hot day in Los Angeles and the sun made a very different impression on my skin than the air-conditioned hallways of one of the more expensive hotels in the city. That's why I was shivering. I found a nice, sort of clean spot beside some sort of chimney and curled up into a tiny ball.

What was I going to do with myself now? As much as Bryce liked to complain, I wasn't really trying to kill myself. But the more I talked to Thomas Nast, the more afraid I got—did this end only with me dead? What the hell would he do if he found out we were lying? Maybe I should have let Nadira screw up the way she had wanted to.

I wanted to laugh. Five minutes in a room with Thomas Nast and I was already contemplating the unthinkable. Bryce lived with the guy at one point—no wonder he couldn't go three minutes without calling me worthless.

But as hurt as I was at what he had said—even if it was the truth—I found I wasn't as mad at him as I was with his absent sister. Because Bryce had no choice, had told me from the very beginning this was a bad idea that would just get me hurt, but Savannah had made stupid Sabrina school sayings and fist bumps and all sorts of things that made me think she was promising not to hurt me.

I needed her and she wasn't here.

Because when I started thinking I was just as pathetic as the Cabals thought I was, I needed Savannah around to kick me in the ass, to make fun of me, to distract me so it stopped hurting so much, to make me realize they were completely wrong. She was supposed to be there to keep me from feeling like this. Looking out for me, even when I told her not to, even when I made her regret it when she did it. She said she would be there.

Savannah would have marched back into that conference room and told Thomas Nast where he could shove his orders, that he had no right to screw with his family the way he did. She would have told him that the only evil parasite around here was in him. At the very least, she would have been smart enough not to let the three of them talk about succession together.

I heard someone approach, but I had gotten used to the measured steps. Though I was a little surprised when Grant pulled up his pants and gingerly lowered himself, trying to clean the floor before he sat down. The sight of the perfectly groomed bodyguard on the ground made me smile, a little.

"What are you doing here?"

"You don't have to make it easy for Thomas, Miss MacArthur. You could have selected a more covered location."

"I like the smog. It's good for my lungs." He didn't even crack a smile. "How did you find me? Dumb question. You're the best."

"Yes."

"If you're the best, then why am I up here?"

"You can't exactly go to the hotel room, now can you? Otherwise, you and Mr Nast are just going to get into an argument, even if you're both actually angry at Thomas and not each other."

"Actually, I think I'm pretty angry with Bryce, too. Or I will be until my feelings stop being hurt." Not that I wanted to talk to Grant about that. "Is Grant your first or last name?"

"I'm like Sting. Or Cher. Whichever you would prefer," he said without smiling. The joke still made me giggle.

An arm came around my shoulders, rubbing small, comforting circles against my arm. I hadn't expected that, but I didn't mind it at all. It was nice having someone hold me like this—like they were going to take care of me, not because they expected something in return, but just because it's what they should do. I let myself rest my head against his shoulder.

"How do you become like that?" I wondered. "How do you make yourself care more about a damn company than anything?"

"I don't think that's fair, Miss MacArthur. Until two days ago, Mr Nast believed Thomas loved him. He's usually very good at reading people; I don't think he was mistaken. Thomas simply doesn't know how to show it, not the way the rest of us do. But he let Mr Nast go to Berkley—everyone thinks it's because Kristof told him to, but no one has told Thomas to do something in a very long time. He wanted his grandson happy."

That was worse, somehow. If Thomas did love his family, how the hell did he justify making them so miserable all the time?

But I was sick of thinking about Thomas Nast.

"Why do you always call Bryce Mr Nast? He's so much younger than you and he wouldn't care what you called him, especially since you've been around him for so long. Mr Nast just sounds weird."

Grant took a long time answering, tying to work out how to tell me. He started with a tiny bombshell: "Grant isn't my name, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"Grant isn't the name on my birth certificate. It hasn't even been my name for the majority of my life. My various mug shots have a very different name attached to them."

I snorted. I couldn't help it. Grant looked like a Grant. The idea of him being a troublemaking non-Grant was just inconceivable.

"You're lying."

"No. I had my name legally changed years ago, so it really is Grant now, but it wasn't always."

"Does the company know?"

"Of course they do. When I figured out I was a half demon and signed up with the Nasts, they took care of the paper work so my old name is technically free and clear."

"So how did you become Grant?"

"Even after I signed up, I was still the same child I was before, too proud to listen to instructions. I thought I was in charge of my powers and I refused to believe anyone who said otherwise. My first assignment I jumped in the wrong direction, alerted the authorities to our presence, and got one of my partners shot.

"I was under Kristof's jurisdiction, but fortunately for me that weekend Sean had come down with the chicken pox. He informed me I was to report to his house. I would have made a run for it, but even back then, I knew it was better to take my death sentence like a man, not a coward. So I reported as ordered."

Even though I knew Kristof hadn't had Grant executed, I still didn't like this story much. Because not everyone was as lucky as Grant.

"As I was walking up the driveway I heard shouting. I looked up and Kristof was leaning out a window begging this blonde demon child to get off the roof and come back inside. The kid refused and then tried to run. He slipped and would have splattered all over Nast property, except I managed to catch him.

"But even saving his son's life didn't earn me Kristof's forgiveness. He promised to spare my life and return me to duty, no hard feelings—I just had to be his son's bodyguard until he could find a replacement for the man he had just fired. I thought it was only going to be a temporary situation and how hard could looking after an seven year old be?"

I giggled. "How miserable did he make you?"

"I was only supposed to be there for a few months. But then there was an incident with a ventilation shaft and my punishment was extended to a year. Then there was an exploding birthday cake—don't ask—and that was another six months.

"It went on like that until he was eleven. He got into a fight with his father over some unimportant event and tried to run away for the third time that year. I tried to talk him out of it just so I wouldn't have to bother following him out of the house. He started shouting at me instead. Eventually he quieted down and I'll never forget what he said next. He just stood there, shoulders slouched and said to me 'why do you care, anyway? You're just dying to leave.'

"He got me thinking about things I had never thought about before. I didn't take the job seriously. I made no secret of the fact I hated it. I complained about the fact that the child didn't respect me, but had I done anything to earn that respect? Not in the slightest. That was the day we made our deal."

"What deal?"

"I wouldn't quit until he said I could as long as he learned my name."

"How could he not know your name? Didn't he need to use it to order you around?"

"We didn't talk much. I was still a sulking child myself, remember. He had an unfortunate habit of calling his bodyguards...other names. I was Moe."

It took me a moment and then I cringed. "The three Stooges?"

"Yes. But when I offered him the deal and he accepted and asked for my name I found myself being given a chance to become something new. I've never actually told him my name wasn't always Grant. It doesn't really matter, as he's only ever known Grant. After I renamed myself I started to feel like I should behave how a Grant would. Be polite. Listen. Be humble. I was better at adapting to some changes than others."

I giggled as he admitted: "Though maybe it was my old self who told him there were less cumbersome ways of getting his father's attention. That was what caught his interest in the beginning. We started talking more after that. It was a shame how lonely those children were sometimes.

"Holding doors open now doesn't erase the fact that I once thought hot wiring cars was a necessary skill for survival, but it does remind me that I wouldn't chose to be that child anymore. It was hard at first, and sometimes I only managed to keep it up because I knew there was someone who needed me to be better, but eventually...I wasn't pretending, anymore."

"So you call him Mr Nast..."

"Because being the second son doesn't mean he's worthless; he still deserves respect. Someone needs to remind him of that because the company won't. He also needs to remember that being polite, being civil, being a decent human being isn't as outside of his reach as he thinks."

"If you wanted him to be a decent human being, I don't think calling him Nast is the way to go about it."

"I don't know much about the politics or economics of this company, Miss MacArthur. I know what I saw, though, and Kristof Nast was a good father. Maybe not the best, but when he saw I was succeeding, that the boy was starting to understand there could be something more for him in this world than turning a profit, he went out and investigated every music program in the country. There is something for him to be proud of in that name, even if he doesn't always remember it."

I found myself blushing, a little. Savannah had turned out okay, too, so what right did I have to say all their blood was bad?

"Too bad Kristof died when he did."

"Yes." There was a little bit of bitterness even the high-trained bodyguard couldn't hide. "A year or so later and it wouldn't have made a difference, I don't think. He would have liked being happy too much. But he was still so young and I...he didn't believe me anymore. He stopped thinking you could become someone new."

"Maybe he hasn't forgotten. If Thomas keeps pushing him, he might reinvent himself entirely."

As a patricidal psychopath, but still.

"Forgive me for not finding that comforting."

Grant was always the same, unruffled and calm. There was something remote about him, as always, something that should have stopped me from opening my big mouth. But open it I did. Because as much as he played at being the perfect bodyguard, he wasn't. Perfect bodyguards didn't get involved.

"I think you did a pretty good job with him."

Grant gave me half a smile. "You would be the first."

"Still...when he's not telling his grandfather how pathetic I am, Bryce isn't all that bad."

"Forgive my impertinence, Miss MacArthur, but you don't actually believe that's how he sees you, do you?"

"Just because you can separate what he means from all the crap he does, doesn't mean it's easy for the rest of us. I shouldn't have to..."

"No, you shouldn't."

"But I do. What does that say about me?" I didn't think I'd like the answer, whatever it was. I wasn't like Grant, crazy enough to believe he could be better. But I might have been delusional enough to think he was worth bothering to understand, anyway. "Don't answer that."

"Certainly, Miss MacArthur."


	39. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

* * *

We stood in the elevator, me fixing my hair in the mirror, Grant towering above me, perfect posture as always. To my surprise, he was the one who broke the silence.

"I would appreciate if you kept our conversation confidential, Miss MacArthur."

"Of course." I was actually a little touched that he had told me. That's when the panic hit. Why in the world did he feel like he should or could tell me all that? "The second we find Savannah, Bryce is going back to New York and never speaking to me again. You know that, right? Of course you know that—everyone knows that. So you know that Thomas and Nadira are fucking crazy, thinking I have some sort of secret power over him, that I'm the easiest way to get to him. Right?"

"Inhale, Miss MacArthur. It'll be better for you."

"Grant..."

"I told you what I did because it's tiring, being ignored all the time. You looked like you wanted to listen and needed to hear it, so I told you. That's all."

"Oh. Well, good."

There was the tiniest ghost of a smile on Grant's face as he continued, "I am, perhaps, a little envious of your ability to get him to listen to you after such a short period of time, but I wouldn't want to take advantage of that fact."

"He doesn't listen to me."

Grant smiled, far too amused by my transparent panic. "Of course not."

"Seriously, stop it."

"There's no need to look so worried, Miss MacArthur. Mr Nast's conduct may be the best I've seen from him in years, but even he knows it isn't enough." His smile became forced. "It is amusing to watch Thomas scramble at the threat."

The elevator doors opened and I stepped off, Grant following a step behind me, the perfect bodyguard as always.

I mulled over what he had said and tried not to freak out too much. Funnily enough, Grant had just contradicted Paulson. Or maybe it wasn't so contradictory. Maybe Bryce could still treat me like crap while treating me better than everyone else. Not better—the best. I liked that. Because I had never had that before. Not someone's best. Not with Dad where I was always Dana's substitute, or Mom, who wanted a mini-her and not a daughter. Even Paige and Mr Cortez, who treated me better than anyone, treated Savannah better. I didn't begrudge them that. But it was a different sort of nice to think that Bryce was giving me his best.

Even if I was still mad at him. I just hoped it was Grant's twenty years that made me trust his opinion and not my own personal preference.

Paulson was in front of the door as usual and he looked like he wanted to say something. But a look from his superior shut him up—the ugly bruise on his jaw might have prevented him from speaking, anyway. At least he hadn't been fired for leaving me alone. Grant took out a plastic card. A swipe and he opened the door for me. I slipped through with a grateful nod.

The first thing I noticed was the bottle on the table. I couldn't see Bryce at first, but eventually noticed the feet dangling off the edge of the couch. Shuffling forward, I didn't call out. I wasn't sure the words would come out properly.

"Please tell me you're Grant."

I leaned over the back of the couch, arms on the back and glanced down. It took Bryce a moment to glance up from the glass of Scotch he was holding, but when he did he didn't look surprised, just disappointed. And relieved. At least I wasn't the only one confused.

"Hi," I said. "My name is Grant. And you are?"

"Not amused." He placed the glass on the table and then quickly came over. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let them bring you in—"

"They had to. Thomas would have just kept coming back to see me. This way we have a plausible reason for bringing in Alba. Though you shouldn't have hit Paulson."

"Grandpa's on the warpath and he left you? I would have fired him if I didn't think you'd complain about it constantly." He stepped closer, hand just brushing my elbow. "All that stuff I said to Grandpa—"

"It's not like you lied to him."

"God, Gillian, of course it was bullshit. You'd think you would be able to recognize that, being a self-proclaimed expert. Just because you're parents are officially useless doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. I don't think you're powerless and the Cortezes keep reminding me you aren't friendless. And the thing about Savannah was such an out and out lie...but it's the way Grandpa would think about you. I just wanted him...it doesn't make sense him not liking you. He should be indifferent to you and he's so obviously not it's insane. You might be a witch, but if Grandpa doesn't like you, then who the hell does he want me to marry?"

"Someone like your mother, obviously."

"He hates Belinda. He hates all of them—and he must really hate you because he's moving much faster than I thought he would on this. And he's playing dirty. He shouldn't have brought Sean into it. Sean has enough to worry about knowing the family won't ever approve; if he starts worrying about me, he just might be stupid enough to get married and I...I can't let that happen. And that means I have to move faster and that means...so I freaked and shouldn't have and...did that make any sense?"

"Sort of. You're doing okay, I think."

"Only okay? That sucks. I've been practicing since I got here."

"Before or after you went for the alcohol?"

"After," he said, starting to get annoyed. "Are you going to let me apologize or not?"

"Sorry," I said. "Continue."

"Thank you." He took a deep breath and then frowned. "I have no fucking idea where I was. Whatever. I messed up. But everything I said to Grandpa today was about him, even if it sounded like it was about you. Saying that shit is the only way I know how to get back at him for the way he keeps punishing me for...I don't even know what, at this point. It wasn't about you. Because I don't think you're any of that stuff...I actually think you're pretty wonderful."

"Wonderful? Exactly how many glasses have you had, Bryce?"

"Two—I'm clearly not drunk. Stop being annoying. I'm trying to grovel here."

"Groveling shouldn't require mass exaggeration."

"I was trying to be nice."

"Since when do you do that?"

"Oh for Christ's sake, Gillian. Just shut up and acknowledge the apology already."

"Have you ever apologized before?" But I was teasing, a little bit. And blushing a little bit more than that.

Bryce snorted. "Rarely. Sean never actually makes me say it—though this time I've got to because..." He had definitely crossed the line. "But he doesn't usually make me say sorry. Leech pats me on the back and Nadira sticks her tongue in my throat to show there are no hard feelings. Everyone else just gets over it."

"Yeah, none of those really work for me. To tell you the truth, I don't think I've had someone apologize like this before." There were only a handful of people that I let close enough to hurt me, and those people seemed to delight in it. "You want to shake hands or something?"

"No."

"Fine." I found myself grinning and he returned the gesture. It didn't last long. "He's going to come back soon, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. I can't believe I ever thought this would be a good idea. He was always going to come after you. He's always hated anyone in my family who had the balls to hang around women they weren't repulsed by and we've basically said I think you're worth compromising everything I believe in for. I should have known he wouldn't take it well."

"I knew what I was getting into. I knew it wasn't exactly safe, but if they can find Savannah it'll be worth it, so stop apologizing."

"I should send you away. He'd keep his word, but you'd be safer if you couldn't keep running into him. I'd make sure he still helped find Savannah."

"If you think I'm leaving town while she's still missing you're crazy."

"Could you please think something through for once in your life, Gillian? Grandpa's not going anywhere. Sean made it pretty clear today that he does not like the fair sex, so I'm pretty much a thousand time officially more important than I ever wanted to be—which means you are a much bigger threat than is safe for you."

"Okay, you need to stop it, Bryce. This whole you trying to be nice to me is creeping me out. When you start trying to keep me safe it becomes a hell of a lot harder to march out of the room screaming that you're a soulless monster."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Don't try and make me a better person than I am."

"Then stop trying to make yourself worse than you really are." I couldn't help adding, "You don't have to be just who your family wants you to be."

"Yes, I do."

His tone left no room for argument. I wasn't going to argue, anyway. Just because I wanted him to be wrong didn't mean he was. That was the trade—anything he wanted, as long as it never interfered with the company.

Bryce went back around the couch and poured himself another drink. I followed him and sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch as Bryce dropped to the ground beside me. He handed me the glass after emptying almost half of it. It didn't take me long to drain the rest of it.

He filled up the glass again, staring at the bottle. I lay my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Keeping my voice down—I suddenly felt exhausted—I said: "It would be so much easier if you loved your grandfather a little less."

Bryce chuckled as he downed another drink. "Tell me something I don't know."

"It would take a hundred bucks for me to stop talking to Savannah."

He burst out laughing at that, his whole body shaking. "Sure, Gillian."

"Okay, maybe I'd hold out for a thousand."

Still laughing, Bryce said: "Please. To return to what you just said about Grandpa, if you didn't love Savannah so much you might actual do the smart thing once in a while. "

"Savannah? I barely tolerate Savannah—she's a bitch."

This time, I was the one who was too busy pouring that I couldn't make eye contact. "So what?" Bryce asked. "My grandfather's a certified bastard and I still love the guy."

"I don't love, Savannah," I snapped. "I'm only helping her because that's what I do. Because..."

Because that's just what I did. Savannah and I had always had a strange relationship, but love? Ew. Love had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was a little more than obligation...obligation had me checking on Paige's door every night, not trying to get myself killed on the off chance that something could help. I had friends. I wouldn't have walked through L.A. in the dark right after witnessing a murder for those friends. But love?

My desperate need to talk to her when I was upset, to make sure she was always okay, suddenly made a little bit more sense.

"I love her."

I had never thought about it that way before. She was always the thorn in my side, the bitch who talked down to me and ordered me around. Except she wasn't like that at all. I gazed at Bryce in wonder. Could it really have been that simple all along?

I reached for the bottle and just drank straight from it. He was right. It was that simple. How did I miss something like that?

"You sound surprised. Completely surprised. God, Gillian, even you can't be that emotionally stunted. You had to have realized..."

Maybe it was the anguish on my face. Maybe Bryce was just genetically engineered to be a dick. Whatever the cause, he said, "Are we still both talking platonic love at this point?" When I didn't dignify that with a response he sighed and tried to wrestle the bottle from my hands. "I don't think I've turned anyone into a lesbian before. Interesting."

I let go of the bottle so I could hit him in the arm. "Not that way...just like..." I searched for the appropriate description. When I found it, it took me a moment to get it out. "Like a sister."

"Obviously. Do we actually have to have a conversation about this?"

"What do you mean obviously? It wasn't...obviously?"

"I figured it out before I ever took you to Leech's house, so yeah, it was pretty obvious."

"Oh."

"There's no need to sound disappointed about it," he said, slowly. "It's not like it's a bad thing."

If only that were true. It's not like I prided myself on not loving people like _some_ Nasts that I knew, but at the same time, I couldn't have this. This was a disaster of epic proportions.

I bit my lip and whispered: "I can't lose another sister."

Bryce sighed and put down the bottle before he pulled me so that I was leaning against him, surrounded by long legs. I played with the hairs on his arms as I tried not to freak out. What was I going to do now? It was far too late to stop and I couldn't just keep hiding my head in the sand now that I actually knew what was going on. Closing my eyes, I found myself fixated on how I could have missed this.

I lay my head back on Bryce's shoulder and admitted to myself I hadn't noticed because I couldn't handle it. If I loved Savannah like a sister, than I could lose her the same way I lost Dana. She could run away without ever bothering to look back.

Bryce pressed his lips to my exposed throat, but seemed to think better of distracting me that way. His mouth moved to my ear.

"We'll find her. She's the only sister my family's ever going to have—we have to take care of her."

"You can't be sure."

"Yes, I can. We're being punished. Everyone knows it. They used Nast resources, they came after me just to show they could, they buried Yi on our fucking property—the Eisenbergs are out for blood. Killing Savannah would make Grandpa happy, so they aren't going to kill her. Not until they try and take us out when we come to rescue her."

"Forgive me for not finding that comforting."

"Maybe they'll take out Grandpa for us."

I interlocked our fingers. "I don't want him dead, you know. I used to want to make him pay and now...hell, now I think he's already punishing himself for me." I was just sorry he took it out on his family, too. "So what do we do now?"

"Have another drink."

Neither of us moved. I was already a little too lightheaded to want much more so I just sat there, staring at the way his legs towered over mine. Stupid tall person. My hands rested on his knees as he played with the hem of my shirt.

"That's not going to make it stop hurting for very long."

"Fine. What was it that Savannah recommended? Handcuffs? We could do that."

I turned around to kiss him right in the corner of his mouth, hand stroking the side of his face. He hesitated and then his mouth was on mine, his arms wrapped around me tightly, crushing me as I explored his mouth slowly, savouring every crevice I found. After I pulled away, I curled up into his chest, hoping the world would stop shifting soon. Maybe I should have had more than a salad for lunch before trying to polish off a bottle of hard liquor.

Bryce was muttering above me, voice catching in my hair. "You picked the wrong person to comfort you, Gillian. I'm not good at this, nor do I have any desire to be. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. Should I tell you that this is just a temporary setback, something that will just make the two of you closer on your way to some sort of sisterhood happily ever after? I don't know. What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know. Just...I don't know. Tell me something true. I can't remember what that sounds like anymore."

He snorted. "Here's something true, even if it isn't shiny and pretty. It doesn't matter if we save Savannah or not, not really. All it'll do is delay the inevitable."

"We all die? How original."

Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it was a fact and that's all I had asked for. But that wasn't where Bryce was going. Not at all.

"Everybody leaves."

I would have preferred it if he had just hit me. I think it would have hurt less. How did he manage to sum up the tragedy of my life in two words? Sometimes I really hated Bryce.

He continued: "Even if they don't want to—but for the most part, most people just pick up and don't look back. It sucks but there you go. The only thing you can do, really, is make sure you don't miss them when they do go."

"There are exceptions," I insisted. I had to believe that.

"There's Grant. I've lost count of how many times he's refused to be promoted. But he's mine—and one of these days Grandpa's just going to fire him because that's what Grandpa does and that'll be that. So really, everyone will just let you down in the end."

"Sean would have done something sooner if he realized how much this sucks for you."

"Yeah, because you can always count on Sean."

I think he must have believed it at one point, because he wouldn't have sounded so bitter now if he hadn't. Maybe he was right. What did I know about Sean Nast, anyway? But I hated hearing Bryce sound that disappointed. I didn't want to think about this. I didn't want to think about anything at all. So I turned fully around, wrapped my arms around Bryce and kissed him like something depended on it.

He was thankfully quiet, even when biology demanded we pull apart to breathe. There was no sound—even when we separated slightly to undress there was none of the usual playfulness. Just the silence. It was all quiet, muffling moans in shoulders and anything else that was around like we were teenagers and my mom was downstairs. It had less to do with Paulson who had listened to enough from us and more to do with a strange sort of fear, that a noise might just break this pathetic facade we kept clinging too.

The darkness was growing as the day began to end—why hadn't I turned on the light before? It didn't matter. The shadows were playing havoc with the room, but I could ignore them and focus on the man underneath me. Blue eyes gazed up at me as I gasped in pleasure, watching me, always watching me. The corners of my mouth pulled into a smile and then—at least I wasn't empty anymore.

Still it was quiet; even his laboured breathing was almost impossible to hear. As I lay my head on his shoulder and tried to slow my racing heart, Bryce placed a light kiss on my forehead. I could feel the tips of callused fingers drawing comforting circles on my back. As he brushed the hair off my face, he muttered an apology against my skin.

I wasn't sure what he was sorry about—whatever it was, I think it was a little too late for both of us.

* * *

I woke up before Bryce the next morning, sometime around six. It was strange seeing him asleep. It didn't really suit him well. He was always fidgeting when he was awake and it was strange to see him not moving.

No sooner had the thought entered my head than Bryce shifted in his sleep. He always had to prove me wrong. Smiling to myself, I climbed out of bed and got dressed in the dark. Six o'clock might be outrageously early for normal people, but the Cortezes weren't normal people on the best of days and had become even less so since Savannah went missing. They might be up and I should tell Paige about the spell.

I opened the door to find that only Paulson was on duty. Even Grant needed to sleep sometime. It was lucky for me, because while Grant might have been the better bodyguard he didn't have Paulson's skill.

"Nice bruise," I said, tying my hair back in a ponytail. "How's that feel?"

"Like five thousand bucks." Paulson smirked, though he added: "Though we agreed that doesn't cover forgiveness."

"Nice. So is Paige up? And alone?" Because that had been awkward and Paulson had enjoyed it way too much.

"She's in the middle of a meeting."

I couldn't help feeling a little relieved, even if I did have to talk to her about the spell sometime. Just that second, I wasn't sure I could face her. If Paige had just left me alone back then, I wouldn't give a damn if Savannah Levine was dead or not. It wasn't fair of me, but I couldn't help feeling betrayed. And grateful, too, that she hadn't let me just shut down and drift away. But why did fixing me up require making me vulnerable?

All I said was: "Meeting?"

"She's in there with her husband, Jaime Vegas, the werewolves and Adam."

"Which werewolves?"

"The big three." Jeremy, Clayton and Elena—so it was too important or too private for me to interrupt. Good. "None of them is happy with the illustrious Nast family right now."

"Should we invite them to join our club?" Paulson smiled and I knew I was forgiven for speaking the truth yesterday. "Is Sean up?"

"Brushing his teeth." Thankfully, he didn't ask what I wanted with the Cabal heir, just said, "He's alone."

I took off down the hall. While Bryce would apologize himself later in the day and Sean would pretend he had never been hurt (because he hadn't realized what he was asking of his younger brother and he was the type who would feel guilty about that), I wanted to talk to Sean myself.

After the door opened, Fitz silently told me to wait while he informed his boss I was here. After announcing my presence, the result must have been favourable because he ushered me inside, even offering to get me something to eat. I really hoped Bryce hadn't ordered all the bodyguards to make sure I was fed, but I wasn't holding my breath.

I had just said I was fine when Sean came out of the bathroom.

"Good morning, Gillian. What can I do for you today?"

"I wanted to thank you. For yesterday." I couldn't help smiling, because it was too absurd. "I think you might have been the only one in that room that realized you were all standing around arguing about my body, so I figured I should thank you."

"You're welcome—though I wasn't doing it for you."

He sounded much angrier than I had expected, though it shouldn't have come as a surprise. He didn't know we were lying—and he knew Bryce was not happy with this. Why shouldn't he resent me? I was the gold-digger who was playing his baby brother. It was in Savannah's interests not to give the game away and it's not like I needed Sean to like me—I never knew how to get nice guys to like me without playing helpless, anyway.

"I know. I just wanted to thank you anyway."

Maybe Sean's accidental insults had hurt more than I had admitted, because I found myself wanting to tell him the revolting truth even though it was none of my business. But Sean should have lied. He should have spent his whole life living a lie because it would have protected his brother. That's what he was supposed to do, what older siblings were supposed to do (someone once told me), but he didn't bother just because his life was a little imperfect.

But Bryce wouldn't forgive me for hurting his brother so when Sean said, "You're welcome," I just nodded. Sort of. It didn't take a genius to realize that, considering they had been brothers for almost three decades, they were pretty stupid when it came to one another. It couldn't hurt to point that out, right?

From the safety of the doorway, I turned around and said, "Whatever you think about me, Sean, I'm never going to manage to hurt your brother as much as you already have. There's a whole host of reasons why you're better than me, but that's not one of them. Just FYI."

"That's not fair. He didn't tell me—"

"You didn't tell him first. But he's your brother, so he figured it out, because it's important to you. So how do you not realize what he'd be willing to do for you without you even asking?"

It shut Sean up for a long minute. I tried to leave, but he reached for my arm and I stopped, even though he never did make contact. Some people didn't go around grabbing girls half their size. I let him figure out what he wanted to say, anyway.

"How in the world am I supposed to figure him out?" he demanded sadly. "He doesn't tell me anything. He's never told me anything. He's never...he doesn't trust me."

"No, he doesn't want to tell you the truth because he thinks he'll disappoint you because he respects your opinion more than anyone else on the planet." Duh. "You're supposed to be the smart one, right? Your brother isn't exactly subtle—he's not that hard to figure out."

Sean snorted, an actual through the nose animal noise. "Okay, Gillian. Sure."

"It's true. He's less subtle than Savannah and that's saying something."

There was a tiny smile on his face. "Hey, if you ever need a job, I'll pay you to translate for them."

"As long as it doesn't interfere with my classes, I am all yours."

How in the world was Sean going to take over from Thomas? As he gazed at me, I could read him like a book. His anger faded away as he saw just how tiny and young I looked, as he came to the conclusion it wasn't fair of his brother to ask me to do anything I wasn't ready to do no matter what his inexplicable religious beliefs were, that I was far too innocent to enter his family's fucked up political games without it being someone else's idea. He might as well have had a loudspeaker; it was just so obvious.

No wonder Thomas was going crazy over succession. Kristof hadn't exactly left him the best candidates.

"Have a good day at the office," I said and took off before he could start feeling sorry for me.

Hurrying back into my hotel room, I saw I only had a few minutes until six thirty. I went and brushed my teeth, combed my hair and then headed back to the bed. Bryce was still dead to the world but since there was only a few minutes until he to get up...I lay down gently on top of him and began placing kisses down his neck.

It didn't take long until his eyes fluttered open. His mouth quirked upwards and then his arms snaked around my waist, hefting me a little higher so he could kiss me properly.

"You taste like toothpaste," he muttered when I pulled back. "A refreshing change from your horrible morning breath."

"I really wouldn't talk if I were you, mister," I warned. "You have horrible morning breath _and_ you need to shave."

"Shut up. Why are you dressed?"

"Well, I couldn't very well leave the room naked, could I? I had to get up and be a horrific bitch."

"A productive morning then."

"And then I was planning to seduce you before asking your opinion on the spell."

Bryce groaned, and not in the fun way. "Always the spell. Sometimes I think you're just using me for my magical powers."

"Actually, I'm after your magical fingers." He laughed and his hands slipped down my body to prove they really were magical.

And as he cupped my ass, pulling me tighter against him, I had to ask, because if anyone would know, he would: "Bryce? Do I love you, too?"

It should have been impossible. He was a Nast. I couldn't—not a Nast. And a sorcerer. And those were just the superficial reasons to hate him. Then there was his personality. He talked down to me, he hated everything, he insulted me, he made fun of everyone, he had no concepts of consequences, he hurt me...And there were the things he did—had done, would continue to do—as a member of the Nast family that I couldn't dare to think about.

Everyone he knew looked down on me—and him by association. It had been abundantly clear for the beginning that this was a relationship with no future. It was going to end the second he said so and knowing he had all the power had always been ridiculously degrading. It should have been a bright neon warning sign.

He drove too fast. His tattoos would look ridiculous in thirty years. His taste in music was elitist and just a little scary. Complaining about everything was practically his hobby. He cheated at video games. We couldn't kiss if I didn't have a stool.

But sometimes lying to yourself gets tiring—I didn't hate him. I could admit that. I...I think I liked him. No. I knew it. I liked Bryce Nast. The same way I liked Savannah? God, I hoped not.

Even if the sex was really good. And he wasn't hard on the eyes. He made me laugh. I liked the way he could be crass and lazy one second and then polished and professional the next; his mood swings were starting to grow on me. I could almost predict them now.

As for working for a Cabal...that was a lot less of an issue than I thought it should be. I was a Cabal brat. Growing up, it had been the only way of life I had known. And if he did the occasionally morally questionable thing...if I was honest with myself, it didn't actually bother me. I just thought it should. But I had grown up thinking that was just what people did—my father bragged about selling tanks to Afghanistan when I was younger and it had taken me a long time to realize that wasn't the way things were supposed to be. It was just the way things were. As long as none of that happened to me, I was ashamed to admit I didn't much care if it happened to others. Selfish, I knew, but I was a selfish creature. Maybe I hadn't always been that way, but I had become what I was to survive and I was so tired of apologizing for it all of the time. Bryce never apologized—even when he did. He was what he was and that was that.

Bryce always looked at me. He might yell and scream and say terrible things, he might sulk and pout and mutter things under his breath, he might purposely ignore every contribution I made to a conversation—but he was always aware of me. When he ignored me, he thought about me while he did it, glaring and hating. He always paid attention, even when he didn't care. And he did care. I wasn't as idiotic as I pretended. He did care about me—in whatever way he could.

I had always been a sucker for people who pretended they cared. What in the world would I do with someone who actually did?

Under his breath, Bryce muttered something about me being emotionally retarded (again), rolled his eyes and told me: "Don't use words you don't understand. You might hurt yourself."

"I just...I don't, right? Even if I do like you, I don't love you."

"Careful, Gillian. That was a compliment."

"Yeah. It was."

And since he saw I was being serious, Bryce decided to actually answer the question. "No, you don't. You love all the shit I can give you, all those Cabal benefits you can't help loving even if you hate them. But you don't love me. You hardly know me."

"Are you sure?"

Lying on top of him as I was, when he sighed it felt like the whole world moved. "Unless Savannah goes missing for years, this isn't going to be anything...maybe an intense fling. Not that it matters. I already told you—I'm not going to let you get in over your head."

"That doesn't make me feel a lot better," I admitted. "You screw up for a living, Bryce. You trying to stop something practically guarantees it'll happen."

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, grabbing me around the waist, twisting us around so I was pinned underneath him as I giggled. He was placing kisses along my stomach, making me laugh harder, when the phone rang. It was the same morning wakeup call that had happened every morning and he didn't even bother to listen, just picked it up to hang it up.

"You have to go."

He reluctantly pulled away, but his face was all kinds of serious. "You might not believe this, but I actually did something right, once upon a time. It feels like forever ago, but I'm pretty sure I didn't hallucinate it so...yeah. Berkley was...great."

It had been more than that, more than he felt comfortable putting into words. There was such a wistful longing in his voice that it hurt me and I was doing my best not to care.

"I'm sure it was."

"Yeah," he muttered, getting up to get dressed. As he stretched, the cross of his back contracted, but as soon as he stopped _Kristof _was easily readable. I stayed in the bed, knees pulled to my chest. As he pulled on clothing, he said, "You never did tell me what you found out about that spell."

"It's not a spell. I don't think."

"It was in her grimoire. With other spells. And they're making Savannah learn it."

"Yes, but—it can't be a spell. The translators said it was a prayer to Osiris, the Egyptian god of the underworld and of the dead. He was killed by his brother Set, but brought back by the devotion of his sister-wife, Isis. It's a prayer for new life after death."

"So why can't it be a spell?"

"Because if it is a spell, it would a resurrection spell."

"What?"

It was so beyond anything anyone imagined was possible with magic that even a Cabal prince didn't believe me. Because there were some boundaries even magic couldn't cross.

"If it is a spell, then it's a spell for the dead, to bring them back not as they were, but as they should have been." Not in the pieces that Osiris had been cut into by a vengeful brother, but something whole and new and better. "If it's a spell, it's the most powerful piece of magic I've ever seen."

"Something you'd need a very powerful witch to perform?"

"I don't think there's anyone on the planet powerful enough to perform it without having it kill them. Maybe—_maybe—_if the kid had just died a couple of days ago _and_ had died of something easily curable, the most powerful spellcaster on the planet could survive casting. But if you want the spell to fix his very genetics when you bring him back, you're going to need more power than normal. You'd need..."

"More power than anyone could possibly have."

"Exactly. Not even Savannah could..."

"So there's no way it could actually work, right?"

Did he want me to reassure him? There was a reason I was pretending it was just a random prayer. It couldn't be possible—but what would it mean if it was?

"I really hope not."


	40. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

* * *

Bryce went to work and I went to find Paige. When I told her what the professors had said, her face went white. Though we told Lucas, they agreed we should keep what I suspected to myself. I swore I hadn't told Bryce and they asked me to burn any copies of the spell I might have made. If there was power like this around, we couldn't let the Cabals get a hold of it.

I wasn't worried about Bryce telling his family. Not only was he simply too angry to tell his grandfather anything that might help the old man at the moment, but I remembered him in the limo. Whatever the board of directors thought, Bryce believed the Cabals did have some moral rules—the dead stayed dead. If it was a stupid risk to take, well, that's what I did. But I didn't think it was a risk at all.

The Cortezes did say it helped explain why the Eisenbergs hadn't gone back in time to when their son was alive. If they could fix him at any time, then the question simply became why they had picked now? Was it because he had died (fairly) recently? Or was there something going on now that couldn't happen at any other time?

I promised to do more research on the spell, in case there was something I may have overlooked. Grant, it seemed, really could get me in touch with anyone. Not that it helped, since most of the people I talked to didn't know magic existed and didn't know just how unlikely the things they suggested had to be.

Grant made me go to class, but while I was away he had the best volumes on ancient Egyptian mythology the Nasts and Cortezes had delivered to the hotel. Since I was a good research girl, I set about looking through them for something that might tell me why the Eisenbergs had gone off the rails now.

I jumped three feet when the phone rang. Though Bryce used it for business when his cell was recharging, it usually didn't ring by itself. If they wanted to speak to him, they shouldn't have called the room. Would they even have this number? With a sigh, I put down the ancient books and went to pick up the phone.

"Hello. How can I help you?"

"Gillian? Is Bryce around?" Leech asked, sounding nervous.

"He's at work. He probably won't be back for at least another hour. Try his cell, he's got it with him."

"No—actually, this is better. Can I come over now?"

"Sure," I answered automatically. And then he hung before I could come up with anything else.

Looking just as terrible as he had last time I had seen him, Leech didn't waste any time allowing me to ask about his health. He got straight to the point.

"I can talk to Penelope Yi."

The look in his eye scared me, and I shivered as I went to sit on the couch. "Hollis couldn't do it. And Jaime Vegas—"

"I know. There are ways to curse a soul so a necro can't get through—most necromancers can't get through. There are ways. That's why mom was so valuable. Because she knew how to do it. I found her old notes. I can get through."

"Why can't someone else do it? What about Hollis? Or Baker? Or Kendrick? Or you could talk to Jaime and—"

"Hollis isn't nearly as powerful as he thinks he is...anyway, it's not about being powerful. My mom couldn't create zombies. She couldn't create portals. Most people thought her entire family were useless as necromancers; that's the only reason Kristof hired a necro-nanny in the first place. Everyone thought she wasn't a threat. But she could have done this. I can do this."

"But you're blacklisted. It won't work."

"Not if Yi doesn't know she's not allowed to talk to me. And since she's probably pissed and cut off, I can't see her particularly caring." He gave a partially rueful smile. "Bryce did manage to leave a few loopholes."

"What aren't you telling me?" I demanded. I wasn't an idiot. He was telling me this only after he had made sure Bryce wasn't around. His breathing was laboured and his skin had acquired a greyish tinge that hadn't been there before. The amount I knew about necromancy was extremely infinitesimal, but still. The darkest power was never fun.

Leech rubbed the back of his head. "It's my choice."

"Right...that's why you're scared of telling Bryce."

"It was his idea, you know. Don't think for a second I'm blaming him," Leech quickly added, seeing my face, "because I'm not. I didn't want to go insane—I was terrified. So when Bryce said let's make them scared of you, it seemed like the perfect solution. Even with—it wasn't pretty what we did, but it was better to see those things once, than have them haunt my every waking moment."

"I'm sensing a but."

He gave the most cheerless smile I had ever seen. "But, I'm a necromancer. Savannah called me a useless human most of the time I knew her and it wasn't far from the truth. I can't do anything, not any more. And I could. I've always been powerful—with the power my parents had, I have to be. I could reach Yi. I just...I need to convince Bryce to let me try."

His voice cracked: "I need to do this, Gillian. I don't have anything left and I'm tired of hiding who I am. Just...just please, don't fight me when he's there. I don't think I'll be able to handle him; if you gang up on me, I won't have a prayer. So just stay out of it. It's my decision."

"That doesn't mean it's a good one."

"I'm not...I want to be who I was supposed to be, now. Because being someone else didn't work."

He needed me to understand this, because I was around, and I think because I should be able to. In a strange way, I did. I couldn't understand how he could bare to face what he really was, but I understood knowing you had to stop, sensing that pretending wasn't working. That didn't mean he was right, or that I was just going to back off.

"There are other ways of asserting your individuality."

But he didn't get mad. "Please, Gillian. I'm a necromancer...let me do necromancer things. For Savannah's sake."

And just like that my resolve disappeared. Because if it could help Savannah, I would let him do this. If this was the way he wanted to get in touch with his roots than I wouldn't stop him. My mother didn't do witch things not because she didn't want to—she didn't know how. I had spent the first thirteen years of my life not knowing how to cast even the simplest of unlocking spells and when I had finally learned...it was the sun rising, lightening flashing, light bulb bursting, flash in the dark sort of moment. Something finally felt right. So I could let Leech do this. Besides, it couldn't be as bad as he thought, right?

"I still don't think you're telling me everything," I said finally. "But I'll stay out of it when you tell Bryce. I don't know what else you want me to do."

"Thank you," he said with a small smile. "Making sure he doesn't kill me would be appreciated. And if you could change his—"

"Finish that sentence and I will let him kill you."

Leech was smart enough to drop his eyes and the entire topic of conversation.

"Noted."

* * *

Bryce came back around five, opening the door and bitching about incompetent lawyers. He saw Leech sitting in the chair and asked what was going on.

Leech told him. Just opened his mouth and told Bryce all about bringing back Yi from the dead. He told Bryce a lot more than he had told me. He talked about the risks involved—how this type of necromancy always broke further through the normal bounds, which is why those who did it tended to end up insane sooner than the rest. And since Leech was already a necromancer who had attempted to defy the spirits...they wouldn't be too happy with him. But Leech said he was prepared to face it. There was nothing Bryce could do to change his mind, so he might as well agree.

The second the words left his mouth, he realized what a challenge they were. And Bryce dearly loved to rise to the challenge.

"Like fucking hell you're going to do that! We didn't almost die just so you could turn around and say you changed your fucking mind. They'll tear you apart, man. Spirits are already psycho—you tell them you want back in and they'll treat you like a rotting animal carcass. No fucking way."

Bryce got up and towered over his friend, who rose and evened the score. Leech looked sick, but he said clearly: "I'm going to do it. You can't stop me."

"Like hell I can't. You might be bigger but I'm the one with the fucking magical powers and if I say you're not leaving this room, you're not leaving this room."

"Bryce, it's my decision. It's who I am. I have to stop denying it. I tried that—you know how hard I tried. But I've already lost Claire. Why should I to keep trying to pretend I'm normal, especially when I can save your sister?"

"Fuck my sister," Bryce spat. "We'll find her eventually, some other way. I'm not going to have you go mental on me just for her."

"Dude, we always knew I was going to go nuts. I might as well do some good before that happens."

"But you don't have to. Just keep out of it and you won't ever have to... you won't have to end up like your mom, man."

"I know I'm good at just standing around, but I can't do that forever. I'm never going to be normal. I'm doing this. And unless you've been taking some sort of kung-fu shit that I don't know about, you're going to have to let me."

Bryce backed away, walking towards the door. He didn't leave, just stared at it for a little while. He glanced back, but kept his gaze on me. "What do you think?"

"A crazy stunt that only has a vague chance of helping Savannah? Why would I support something like that?"

"Good job, buddy. The crazy witch agrees with you. That's impressive." His voice was calm when he announced, "You can't do this. I won't let you. It's suicide and it's just not happening."

"It's too late, man," Leech said softly. "I contacted my mom last night."

"No." Bryce's face went completely white. "No. No, you didn't."

He said it was such force that I sort of just expected time to undo itself so that Leech hadn't already talked to his mother, just because Bryce said so. Bryce who had everything and everyone obeying his every whim for as long as he remembered. And now, when it actually mattered to him, Leech was just shaking his head.

"I did. It was good to talk to her again. She's better now."

I thought Bryce was going to cry as he sort of just fell into the nearby chair. I bought him some time.

"I thought necromancers weren't allowed to contact relatives."

"It's harder," Leech said quietly. "And against all sorts of laws, but it can be done. There are just consequences if you do. Consequences I'm prepared to deal with."

Bryce finally managed: "The spirits will start coming back soon. There's no way around that. I can go see Kane, see if—"

"No. I'm not hiding any more. The spirits want me, they can come get me."

"I'm not going to visit you, once you lose your fucking marbles."

Leech gave him a half-grin. "Yes you will."

"Fuck you."

Bryce stormed past Leech and into the bathroom. The door slammed, shaking on its hinges. I jumped and Leech cringed. The big man let out a long sigh and deflated in front of my eyes, relieved and maybe disappointed at the same time. Bryce wasn't going to actively stop him, but that didn't mean Leech hadn't hoped for a better result. He slumped down onto the couch and buried his head in his hands.

"He didn't kill you. Count your blessings, right?" I said. Leech didn't look up. I had to say _something_. "He'll get over it and you two will be fine. I got him shot and he's still—actually never mind. But, I mean, him being a jerk isn't really all that different from normal, so you shouldn't feel too bad about it."

He gave me a look that told me my pep talk had failed spectacularly. Damn. I tried a slightly different tactic.

"It's incredibly stupid, what you're doing. You're going to end up insane, for sure, and this might make it happen a whole lot faster." I let my words sink in before I continued. "But I think it's really brave, too. And I'm grateful, because it might save her life. And, I—I wish I could be that brave. Not that stupid, but that brave." To try to go back, to stop running from myself all the time.

He gave me a real smile this time. "Thank you. You're going to look after him?"

I nodded and walked towards the closed bathroom door. "He'll want to come with you when you try and talk to Yi."

"Hollis and I are going at eight. We can pick you up then."

Nodding, I tried the bathroom door and was relieved to find it wasn't locked—inside I went.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I found. Bryce was sitting in the large tub, still in his business suit, water gushing out of the faucet and onto his head. His long legs were resting on the edge of the other side. The only concession to the fact he was going to be drenched in a few minutes were the shoes he had kicked off. He didn't even turn at my approach. Fine. I stayed just by the door.

But I had to offer him something. Anything, even if it wasn't that much.

"I don't know anything about being a good friend. Dana was my best friend and she's dead and everyone else...they were everyone else and I didn't care about them at all. I only ever let Savannah in after that and you know how well that turned out. But I think he needs to do this. I think you need to let him."

"You ever see what happens to a necro at the end?" His voice was harsh, bitter and coarse, and utterly terrified. "Sometimes you can't even tell they're human, anymore, they're so far gone. It's really, really ugly. Fidelia got really bad. They couldn't shut her up and she tore out all her hair and started trying to scratch off her own skin so they had to tie her up. It was brutal. Ask Leech why he's never had kids, even though he would have done anything else to make Claire stay. He knows what happens. How can I stand by and let him do that to himself?"

"You're not standing by. You're stepping aside."

"Same difference."

"No. No, it's not."

Climbing up the steps, I perched on the tiles around the bath, not touching him, waiting for him to finish whatever angry rant he had to—anything to feel back in control. He sighed and leaned back so that the water was splashing right in his face, like maybe it could help. Finally, he stopped and said:

"There's part of me that wants to let him do it. For him, for Savannah...but what happens if it goes wrong? And it's going to go wrong. I can't lose him like that. I couldn't—" Blue eyes pleaded for me to understand. "He's been my best friend since I was five. How the fuck can I let him do this?"

"I don't know. You either can or you can't. You pick and then you live with it."

"That's what I do," he muttered. "It doesn't seem to be working very well."

"Yeah, I picked up on that one."

Again he fell silent and the only sound was the water still streaming out. It was almost over his hips at this point. I finally had to ask, "Is there a reason you're trying to drown yourself? Or is this just a new fad I haven't heard of?"

"When I was fifteen there was this guy I couldn't stand—so I sort of hooked up with his girlfriend. Anyway, we got into this fight and Sean and Leech ended up dragging me off him. I tried to attack them too and so they dumped me in a pool. That helped me cool off. I figured if it worked back then, it should work now. Because I think I might kill him if I had a chance."

"You have to work on your anger," I said, shaking my head. "Is it working?"

"No. I admit, this wasn't one of my smarter ideas. I liked this suit."

"You should take it off before it gets wrecked." His wet hand snaked out to try and grab my waist but I pulled back quickly—I happened to like my shirt. "That wasn't a come on, FYI."

"Hey, you followed me into a washroom. What am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe I was worried about you."

It came out less flippant than I had meant it too, but he didn't seem to notice, too busy pulling off the suit jacket. I may have giggled a little as he struggled in the partial water, getting the whole room wet. He tossed the half-drenched jacket at me and I caught it without thinking. It got water all over me.

"Thanks, Bryce," I snapped.

"I should be getting drunk out of my mind but...I suppose he wants to go tonight?" I nodded. He sighed and gave up pulling off his clothes, sinking under. "This fucking sucks."

"How you suffer." But since we did have a long time and he did need to be distracted...

"What is that? Vanilla?" he demanded as I poured something into the tub. "Bubble bath?"

"I like bubble bath," I said pointedly.

"Interesting. I don't think I knew that about you," he said as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Actually," I said as I sat down beside his feet, pulling off his wet socks and dangling my feet in the water, "I don't really. If it gets in my hair, it just creates this whole soapy mess. But I like the smell."

Bryce sat upright and then onto his knees, coming over. I parted my legs and let him slip between them. With him kneeling and my sitting a few feet above him, I was actually taller than him for once. He took the opportunity to kiss the tops of my breasts as I pushed his sopping wet shirt off his shoulders, helping him shrug it off.

"Just drop the clothes on the floor," he told me.

"It's going to get everything wet," I complained. Water was seeping through my shirt as he wrapped his arms around me, dragging me closer. But just because he was getting me all wet didn't mean I wanted to destroy the room.

"I'm paying a fortune for this room. I should be able to get water wherever I want."

"There are hard-working people who have to clean up your mess. You could try to be a little considerate."

"Is this you distracting me from the fact that my best friend just announced he was going to try and make himself crazy? Because you're doing a shitty job."

I brushed a wayward droplet off the side of his face. Always with the blazing blue eyes. He did have beautiful eyes. The water had clumped his eyelashes together and I found myself smiling at him. "You know, I really do think you get objectively more attractive when you're angry. It's the weirdest thing."

He snorted and tried to pull away, but I didn't let him. Holding his arms in place, I kissed him until he was responding enthusiastically. Even after everything, he was still warm and I savoured each moment. For a while, it was just the two of us. It wasn't about distracting him, or if it was, it was more about giving him the time to accept what was happening than it was about making him forget. I wouldn't be up to the challenge of making him forget. I wouldn't want to be—you couldn't forget to worry about your best friend. You always worried. You worried about pathetic crushes that always broke their hearts or decisions that destroyed their mental abilities and everything in between. Always.

But right that second? Bryce needed time to get his stubborn head around the fact that this was Leech's decision and it had already been done. I'm sure part of him realized that already, the part that hadn't killed Leech for daring to defy a Nast. Now to get the rest of himself to listen.

"Why are you still here, Gillian?" he muttered against my lips.

"You're cute when you're wet," I told him, running my hands over his shoulders. Since I didn't know the truth, I couldn't answer his real question. "It makes you look sweet."

He snarled, dragging me dangerously close to the water, but I found I didn't care much. My fingers found his belt and I tugged at it gently as we kissed. The water was now up to my knees and I really didn't care. I got his pants undone and pulled away in triumph. He looked up at me, eyes sparking. I found myself grinning and kissed him on the nose. That's when we both noticed the bubbles were almost spilling over the edge of the tub.

Bryce swore and shuffled back to the faucet. I took the opportunity to slip half out, removing my clothes. He had a little trouble figuring out which way turned off the faucet and so by the time he turned around I was already under the water.

Even my admittedly small body mass caused the water level to shift dangerously high. We were going to make such a mess. If I leaned back the water came just below my chin, the bubbles getting into my mouth. I hadn't realized there would be so much water—or bubbles.

"I don't remember saying you could come in," Bryce said as he leaned over me, kissing me even as we both fumbled trying to get his pants off. As we shifted in the water, it rolled around us, splashing up into my face.

I giggled, even as I spit up water, and he rolled his eyes, standing right up to take the things off. As I tried to stop laughing, I told him, "I hope you know mouth to mouth because I'm going to drown in here."

He moved so the water splashed me in the face.

"Hey!" I brushed the water out of my face, to see him holding his clothes right above the perfectly dry floor. "Bryce—don't. You don't need to make a mess."

"Oops." Pants and boxers dropped onto the ground.

"You're such a brat," I said, half-rising out of the water to yank him back to me. Water got everywhere, but at this point it was really beside the point. He deserved whatever splashed into his eyes.

"Hey," he complained. He ended up leaning against the other side of the bathtub as I slipped on top of him, peppering his face with kisses. "You're going to give me a complex one day."

"You deserve it. I'm never going to get you to respect the minions, am I?" I put a little bit of bubble bath on his nose, which made me giggle some more.

"I'm a lost cause."

"Which is why you care about what happens to Leech?"

I pulled back so I was on my knees, bubbles barely covering my chest. He shrugged and tried to push the bubbles away. "Maybe I'm just worried I won't have any place to stay when I come out west."

"I can't believe what a shitty liar you are," I said incredulously. "Shouldn't you have been taking lessons from when you were a kid? But you're horrible."

He laughed, yanking me down so that our mouths crashed against one another. Eventually I managed to straddle him properly as my hands swam through the water, slowly running along his body. His lips slipped down along my neck. Now we were getting somewhere. My eyes fluttered closed as he took his sweet time as usual. I braced one hand above his head, the other on his shoulder and moved myself a little higher, giving him better access. As the tip of my right breast slipped inside his mouth, I groaned, moving a little more.

That's when I hit the faucet.

The hot water blasted onto my shoulder and I shot backwards, scrambling to get away from the boiling water. As I shrieked, Bryce sat up properly and turned off the offending appliance. We looked at each other and then I burst out laughing.

"This is a disaster. I take full responsibility but oh my god. We need to stop," I said between giggles. Bryce was trying not to laugh, teeth biting hard on his lip, but failing to keep the smile off his face.

"Do you know what this means, Gillian?"

"You should have used the shower?"

Bryce stuck out his arms and just pushed the water over the edge. I would have protested, but at this point, the bathroom was already a mess. There was no point so I just shook my head and tried to ignore the way he was purposely getting everything wet.

"It means," he said finally, when the water level was a little less ridiculous, "that this has become a matter of honour."

"What?"

"That's right. We are having sex in this bathtub if it kills us both."

I had managed to stop laughing, but now I started up all over again. I even snorted up some water, I was laughing so hard. That was such a bad idea. "I'm sorry, but what? Face it, Bryce. We are up against forces we cannot control. The tub is out to get us. There's no fighting the inanimate object."

"I refuse to accept that."

"Of course you would. That doesn't mean I'm not right. Hell, I think I officially burnt my shoulder."

"Let me see."

I turned on my side and he came up behind me. Somehow, he managed to get me onto his lap as he leaned back on the other side, far from the evil faucets. Cool air hit my shoulder and I shivered, shifting against him. That's when he brought his lips down, moving along the sensitized skin. His hands on my hips began to move upwards.

"Is it bad that I'm just waiting for the bubbles to attack?" I told him.

"You're ridiculous," he announced firmly. His lips moved over my neck and his hands began kneading my breasts. I let myself lean back a little more, relaxing into his chest, letting my eyes flutter closed.

"Maybe we can triumph," I admitted reluctantly as he sucked just under my ear. I turned my head so that I could reach his lips properly. My arms had reached backwards, tangling in his hair. "Not getting your way won't kill you, you know."

"I know," he said quietly. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."


	41. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

* * *

Leech must have called up to the room exactly at eight. My hair had been perfectly dry for a while and I was listening to Paige recite everything she had done that day when Bryce knocked on the door of the Cortez room at exactly 8:01.

"He's here," Bryce said sticking his head through the door. "Would you like to come too, Mrs Cortez? It's going to be boring as hell, but when he goes nuts it might be a good idea to have as many witches around as possible. Maybe having two of you around will mean you guys can actually be useful for a change."

"Just because you're worried, doesn't mean you get to be a racist ass," I snapped as I stood up, though there was no bite in my voice. Not to make excuses for him, but he was worried about Leech and probably unhappy that he felt like he had to invite Paige along. Adopting a more congenial tone, I addressed Paige, "It would be a good break. You look like you need one."

Paige hesitated, but finally relented, knowing full well that nothing positive was happening in this room. Sure, she couldn't actively do anything, but this way she could put whatever information Leech gathered to use right away.

We met up with Leech and Hollis in the lobby. Bryce only spared a single sneering look for the hated necromancer and then settled on ignoring the man. We took a black SUV that belonged to Hollis, though it was Leech who drove. I sat between Bryce and Paige in the backseat as the bodyguards followed in the cars behind us. When we hit the highway Bryce apologized, but insisted that Paige had to travel to the cemetery blindfolded. She agreed without protest.

"And the other?" Hollis said pointedly, turning around to look at me.

"I—"

"It doesn't matter," Bryce said firmly. "And mind your own fucking business, Hollis."

Of course Bryce could turn a sweet, defiant gesture into some sort of power play. What other company could get away with treating its employees like that? Bryce noticed my glare but just shrugged and ignored me. The older man didn't give up.

"Company policy clearly states—"

"If you're here in your official capacity you can get out of the car right now." Hollis blinked and turned away. "It's my call. Now could you please turn on the radio?"

We drove the rest of the way—and it was a long way—with only the accompanying noise of Top 40 hits. But Leech knew his way easily. Though the road twisted and turned—I was purposely paying as little attention as possible—he never looked to the others for direction. Occasionally Hollis would try to guide him to a different route, but Bryce would say something offensive and the older man would shut up. One of these days I was going to ask if there was a reason for Bryce's passive-aggressive hatred or if he just did it because he could.

We got to a nondescript clearing eventually. The Eisenberg's had given one final insults to the Nasts. All those they had killed had been buried on Nast property (including Tia, but they weren't planning on giving her body back, ever, so I tried not to think about it). Leech was going to have the home town advantage tonight. It sounded like he was going to need all the help he could get.

There was a full moon out, gleaming brightly in the night sky like the flame of a lighthouse, guiding us through the death. I was grateful. Not only did it make stepping around the graves much easier and less painful, it made me feel safer. Like a child, I figured being able to see just a little meant I was safe. It may have been juvenile but it was the only way I managed to keep going.

The Nast graveyard was vast, like something out of a way over-budget CGI movie whose computer geeks were just showing off. It stretched farther than seemed possible, losing itself in some pixilated horizon. I followed Leech as he led us further and further through the land. Eventually he turned the lead over to Hollis, who had come up to Yi's grave two nights before. I didn't ask how they had found Yi's body among the unmarked graves that littered the field and that really only resembled small roughly dug patches of earth—I didn't want to know.

Hollis and Leech waved us away when they reached their destination, not needing spellcasters to interfere. Bryce leaned up against a nearby tree and Paige reluctantly sat down beside him. I settled in between his legs, wishing I had brought a thicker sweater. He was tense behind me, his finger tapping impatiently on my knee. I leaned my head back and relaxed. Necromantic rituals usually took a while.

"I hate this," Bryce muttered into my hair. I found his hand in the dark and squeezed.

From beside us, Paige asked, "How long do you think it'll take?"

"They say Fidelia could do it in ninety minutes flat. He'll be lucky if he does it in three hours. I can't believe I'm letting him—" I could feel him turn to look at Paige. "You do realize you have to pretend you never found out necros could do this. Or Grandpa might actually kill me."

So that's why he had asked her to come.

"Lucas and I don't have the most open relationship with the rest of his family. You're secret is safe."

"You can't even tell Lucas," Bryce said. He actually sounded apologetic.

"Oh."

Once upon a time, it would have been a problem. Now Paige just wrapped her arms tighter around her body and tried to pretend it was nothing. She wouldn't tell—she wasn't sure anymore that Lucas would be able to stay away from the Cabal forever. Paige was a little naïve that way. Lucas's path had always been fixed; he just hadn't accepted it yet.

I turned my head to glance at Bryce, who was glaring at the earth like it had personally offended him. He had to stop feeling so personally responsible for his friend or it would kill him.

"You're doing the right thing," I tried to reassure him quietly.

His breath was warm against my neck. "Yeah? It feels like shit. No wonder I usually avoid it."

We sat in the dark for a long while, Bryce finally using the flashlight to catch a glimpse of Leech. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the fresh mound of dirt, covered in sweat despite the cold, a drop clinging to the tip of his nose. Bryce's arms tightened around me, restraining himself from going over and just calling the whole damn thing off. The light caught Hollis as well, standing well away, watching Leech carefully. When he saw the light, he gestured for Bryce to stop it and I was surprised to see Bryce took his advice.

Fifteen minutes past, then thirty, forty-five...normal for a necromancer, especially since Leech was trying something that might not even be possible. An hour passed. Bryce was still rigid behind me and I was starting to get a little worried that he might just break something if he didn't move soon. He and Paige were making overly polite conversation that made me want to laugh. Neither one cared about the California real estate market, but at least they were trying to get along.

"Stop shivering," he ordered eventually, wrapping his arms even tighter around me. Usually it would have helped, but currently it was like being held by a cardboard box. He was too tense. This was not working.

At seventy-five minutes, I stood up and brushed the dirt off of me. I was freezing, he was stressed and we were both bored out of our minds. I glanced down at him. "I'm going to wait in the car."

"We'll get you when he's finished."

"Come with me," I begged. "You're just making yourself sick watching him and you're probably not making it any easier on him. Besides, I don't think I can find my way back to the car."

"I can't leave."

"You don't need to watch." Just because he felt like he should, didn't mean that was actually the case. We glared at each other in the half-light, until he finally stood up with a sigh. "Would you like to come too, Paige?"

"I'm all right here," she said. She probably suspected why I wanted to get him out of there. I hoped she didn't, but at least she wasn't in the way, so I really didn't care.

"I hate you for this," he muttered as he took me by the arm and started leading me back to the car. I think he purposely made as much noise as possible, stomping and grumbling the whole way back. But the whole time, he didn't turn around. It was better that way.

The car was also cold, but at least it sheltered us from the wind. We settled into the back seat, Bryce leaning against the window as I curled on top of him, snuggled into the warmth he offered. One large hand settled on my arm, pulling me closer.

"I think I'm the one going nuts," he admitted finally.

"You need a distraction," I said, sitting up a little bit. I found his lips, kissing him slowly, giving him room to pull away if he wanted. When I drew back, the hand on my arm slipped off and gently brushed the side of my breast.

"You offering to try?"

"Maybe."

I shifted so I was sitting on his lap properly, though my legs were tucked awkwardly around him. We began kissing and though he was hesitating, he wasn't completely opposed to my sort of distraction.

But I had a better idea.

"Move over," I ordered and he dutifully shifted along the seat of the car, dragging me along with him. When he was in the middle of the seat, I stopped him. Despite what was happening outside the car, I grinned. I had been looking for an excuse to do this for a while.

I slipped off his legs, until I was kneeling between them. The space between the two front seats was small, but I was a small person, so though it was a little cramped, it was workable.

"What are you doing, Gillian?"

Maybe it was a little mean to demand he relinquish what little control he had at the moment, but at the same time, I wanted to do something that would guarantee he was keeping his mind on the here and now. And if he could just accept that there were some things that required him to yield, it would be better for him in the long-run.

That I had changed my mind shouldn't have surprised him. I changed my mind all the time—it was one of the benefits of never knowing what was going on in my head in the first place.

So I smiled reassuringly, maybe even a little teasingly, as I reached for his belt.

"What do you think?"

* * *

Two hours and thirteen minutes after we arrived, there was a knock on the car door. I was half asleep beside Bryce, but I woke up when he quickly got out. Paige was waiting patiently. "He says they're almost done."

"Hollis better be fucking right," he muttered and began walking off.

I followed a little more slowly, drowsiness still clinging to me. Paige helped me out of the car and we followed after Bryce traveling at a more leisurely pace. Almost done didn't mean done by a long shot. Even after we arrived by the grave where Bryce was talking—arguing—with Hollis, Leech wasn't in any position to talk to us.

He looked horrible—all pulled skin, sweat and grime. His eyes held none of the cheer that I had previously associated him with. They were flat and lost, staring at fields of death, unable to look away. His muscles were locked and even though the wind was still fairly strong, he didn't move.

Fifteen minutes later, only his mouth shifted. But it was something. Scratched vocal chords slowly began to work.

"I've gotten through. She's flickering in and out, but she's here."

Bryce grinned. "I can't believe you fucking did it."

Leech nodded. I was afraid the movement might cause something to snap. He began to chant out loud for the first time, in front of the strange bones and earth that he had previously laid out. He was muttering things, talking to Yi, not bothering to talk to the rest of us because time was limited and then—

The scream made me jump. We all froze for a moment, unsure what was going on and then Hollis dove for the younger necromancer, waving Bryce back when he moved to help. Hollis was chanting something as Leech fell over, screaming in agony.

And when the screaming stopped, it just got worse.

Hollis frantically waved a hand in front of unseeing eyes and then felt quickly for a pulse. Hollis let out a sigh of relief, when he touched the big man's wrist and then began trying to wake him up. When nothing seemed to be working, Paige offered a spell that should help. Hollis nodded but didn't move aside to let her cast. He wasn't leaving Leech. Bryce was just standing off to the side, staring in horror. When Paige's spell failed, Bryce asked:

"Did this happen to Fidelia?"

"Sometimes," Hollis said finally, his voice strangely muffled. "Erinyes punishes those who have the power to define her. But Delia always came out of it. Eventually. There's nothing to do but wait."

"We should get him back to the car then. It's getting late," Bryce said.

Hollis nodded and the two men stood on either side of Leech. Neither were small, but both were dwarfed by Leech. Unconscious as he was, it was like carrying three hundred pounds on their backs. Grant and the other two bodyguards (one for Paige, one for Hollis) appeared to help but even then it was slow going back to the car.

Hollis climbed into the back, Leech's upper body in his lap. Bryce pulled out the car keys.

"I'll go with Grant," I volunteered. "Is it that bad?"

"Hollis will know what to do," Bryce told me. "It'll work out."

How did he do that? For a second I found myself believing him, even though all the facts screamed the contrary. That Cabal confidence was something else. And then his face wavered just before he slammed the car door. Even if he always got his way didn't mean that it would work forever.

* * *

Since the bodyguards had to stay with their charges, we ended up following the other car to one of the Nast hospitals.

When Grant heard where we were going, his lips pursed so tightly they almost disappeared.

"What's wrong?" I asked. The two of us were in the back. The bodyguard Benecio Cortez had foisted on his daughter-in-law was driving.

"Mr Nast won't be pleased. Mrs Leech died there. The staff is the best when it comes to necromantic problems, but the associations are unpleasant."

Bryce was going to be miserable to be around later tonight.

"Did you know her?"

"Not personally. By the time I arrived, she had quit working with the boys and was focusing on her own son and the odd jobs her husband found for her. She was my superior, by then."

"She really was their nanny, then?"

"Only Sean's. That's how she met her husband." It was an old piece of scandalous gossip, I assumed—Grant looked miserable repeating it. Considering Bryce said Leech's dad had been on the make, he had taken a big risk in marrying the help. "When Belinda left I heard she stepped in unofficially as a favor until Kristof found someone suitable—and each time he had to find another suitable replacement—but she was never officially in charge of both boys."

Whatever her official position, she had been around enough that Bryce had cared about what happened to her when she went mad. He was too scared about it happening to Leech—he knew how much it could hurt, watching as they slipped away while you stood by helplessly.

Or ran away to California.

A whole fleet of people came out of the small, nondescript building that served as a supernatural hospital to take Leech out of the other car. Hollis was following quickly after Leech when Bryce grabbed him by the arm. Eventually, Bryce seemed to realize it was none of his business and so he left Hollis and came back into the car, where Grant had just sent me.

Paige was on the phone with Lucas who—shockingly—said that nothing new had been discovered. Of course not. No one was that good. The Eisenbergs had to have made a mistake somewhere. It was the law of human existence, for crying out loud.

The ride back to the hotel was silent. Bryce was just spoiling for a fight and the rest of us didn't want to provide him with one.

We walked Paige back to her room first where she offered a soft, "I hope your friend's all right."

"It's his own fucking fault," Bryce sneered. He was going to have to do better than that to convince everyone he didn't care. Even Paige, who wasn't really inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, realized he didn't mean it at all.

"If Lucas's newest lead pans out..."

"Yeah," he nodded absently and then headed down the hall without a goodbye. I stepped inside the Cortezes's room for a minute so Lucas could give an update on what he had been doing that night. He had nothing positive to report, either.

Once we had talked in circles for a little bit, I gave Paige a quick goodnight, and apologized for not having anything more to show for the night. She just gave me an understanding look and tried to say it would be better tomorrow. But the words caught in her throat and she just muttered goodnight.

I was too wired to sleep and assumed Bryce would share that problem, but when I got back to the room I didn't even seen him in there. For a second I thought that he had just taken off, but since Paulson and Grant were outside the door I couldn't see how he had managed to disappear. It took me a moment, but eventually I noticed that the curtain was ajar. I hadn't used the balcony at all since we had arrived (Bryce smoked out there, but otherwise stayed off it himself), but it wasn't off-limits so outside I went.

A breath of fresh air did seem like a good idea. The night air was cool, the moon still as bright as it had been in the graveyard. It didn't help.

Bryce was leaning against the railing, staring down at the city below us, cigarette dangling carelessly from two fingers. When he saw me, he threw the thing right off the balcony. It was nice that he had remembered I had quit(ish) since the day in the barn, though smell had me considering begging him for one anyway.

I leaned against the wall and glanced around. It was amazing what Cabal money could buy. The city lay stretched out before me, tiny fireflies twinkling in an out, dancing across inky darkness. Bustling life trying to claw its way out of obscurity, trying to assert its presence on an indifferent earth. I never liked L.A. There was a collective desperation in the air, a fear that I couldn't name but felt anyway. Maybe it was just the people I hung around with. Whatever the reason, I longed for a place that didn't demand anything from me, just let me lay down my head for a little while.

It was quiet up here, on top of the world, and I felt like an ancient god watching the serfs fight below me with detached amusement. No wonder Thomas was a whole lot of crazy.

"You planning on staying up long?" I asked finally.

"Couldn't sleep if I wanted to," he said carelessly. "How are you doing?"

"Bryce..." I couldn't say I was worried about him; that would just piss him off. And if I was worried about Leech, that implied there was something to be worried about, and I wasn't sure he could handle that. So I settled for a soft, "I'm fine. Tired."

"It's late. Go to bed."

I pushed myself off the wall and walked over to where he stood. Bryce was watching me in the dark. I could barely make out his silhouette but found I didn't need to, since I could feel him beside me, warm and smelling like cigarettes.

"Are you going to stay out here a while?"

"I don't know. I don't have a fucking clue."

At least he was honest.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Whatever you want, Gillian," he muttered, head turned to the sky. I wasn't quite sure, but I thought he might have been praying. What was the point? There was no plan and there sure as hell wasn't a referee—there was just people and events they either could or couldn't survive.

"I want you to come inside with me."

"Believe it or not, I'm not really in the mood."

But there wasn't the bravado there usually was; he was too tired for whatever the hell we usually did. If I was being honest, so was I. I just didn't want him outside brooding all night.

"Just come inside. Please?"

So he let me pull him indoors.

We didn't say much as we changed, though he did complain bitterly about the shirt I chose, ranting about how little I appreciated proper music (I hadn't realized it was a band, so I said nothing). Eventually, he got into the bed and I climbed in after him, pulling the comforter up around me to stay warm.

We lay beside each other, both staring up at the perfect white ceiling. "He'll be all right," I said, finally. "He'll get better and you'll make fun of him and it'll be okay. Like it was before."

"It wasn't okay before. It's never..."

His voice made me shiver, but he must have thought it was the cold, because he pulled me closer, trying to keep me warm.

"At least I bought him some time, I guess." He had to cling to the little things, since that's all he got. "And...I did get to talk to Savannah, if only briefly. Even if all I did was kick the crap out of her."

"Actually, Bryce, I think she kicked your ass."

"You're clearly delusional."

But there was a hint of laughter in his voice and it was like finally having permission to fall asleep. So I did.

* * *

I don't know what time it was, but the room was completely dark when I woke up. Bryce was sitting up on the bed, talking on the phone. Talking wasn't the right word. He was just sort of mumbling his agreement, finally saying, "I'll be there in half an hour. Do you want me to bring Paige?"

Then he hung up and turned on the light and began scrambling for clothes. I sat up in bed and drew his attention. Noticing I was awake, he began to explain: "That was Sean. The werewolves managed to track Edmund coming out of a pharmacy ten minutes ago. The troops are being mobilized. I'm heading out."

"_We're_ heading out," I corrected, rising.

He pushed me down while shrugging on his jeans. "Like hell you are. You are staying in this hotel room until I get back. And Grant is going to make sure you stay alive."

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"Despite what you think, you don't actually own me. You can't order me to stay here like a good dog. If they think they've found Savannah, I need to be there."

"They think they've found where the Eisenbergs are. It's different, so just stay here."

"So you can run off into unknown, dangerous circumstances but I can't? That's not—"

He grabbed me be the arms, keeping me on the bed. Bryce spoke slowly as if I was too brain damaged to understand. "_I_ do not put myself in stupidly dangerous situations with no way out. I stand back and let minions die while I supervise. You...you fucking don't. You do stupid, dangerous things and I am not letting you die on me. You understand, Gillian? If I have to knock you out and chain you to this bed you are not trying to get yourself killed again."

He pulled away then, rant finished and glared down at me, daring me to contradict him. I did the only thing I could do. I reluctantly sat down on the bed and said: "Chain me to the bed? Kinky."

Bryce snorted and pushed my hair behind my ear. "You're ridiculous. Just go back to bed. Please?"

"At least take Grant with you. I'll be fine with Paulson."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But I'd rather not chance that. I'll call you the second I have news."

"You better," I muttered. Bryce started heading towards the door but I caught his wrist without thinking about why I needed him to stay. When he paused, I found myself saying, "You might as well take Grant, since I'm staying here."

"I'm taking Paulson."

"You should take Grant."

"Grant should stay here."

"Paulson should stay here."

"I'm not leaving you with Paulson."

"You're not leaving me with Grant."

"I'm not taking Grant."

"Just take him already! I'm not the one who's... just take Grant."

"I don't—"

Fine. Sometimes begging was the only thing that worked. "Please, Bryce. Take Grant. I'll be fine; you're the one who might need him."

"Are you worried about me?"

I was almost offended at how surprised he sounded, but all I did was shrug and lightly reply: "I just don't want you dead. I find funerals sort of boring."

"That was almost...what's that word of yours? Sweet?" He grinned and I was aware that this was probably only the second time I had seen him look happy. "That was sweet, Gillian."

"I guess you're rubbing off on me."

I kissed him (fairly) quickly and then called after him, "You're being a pretentious ass not letting me come!"

He flipped me off and shut the door. A glance at the clock told me it was four in the morning. Pulling the comforter over my head, I tried not to think about where he was going. Savannah would be all right. The Cabals would find her, I just knew it.

I didn't sleep at all for the rest of the night. No one called.

* * *

It was eight in the morning by the time Bryce called to give me a recap. Cabal forces had tracked Edmund to a warehouse—not actually owned by the Nasts, for once, which I was grateful for because otherwise Bryce was never going to stop bitching. They were currently engaged in a standoff, Edmund having seemed to know the Cabal SWAT teams were already there. He claimed to have rigged the place to blow and had demonstrated this truth by blowing up one of the trucks. They were now trying to negotiate.

It seemed the Eisenbergs didn't want anything less than full Cabal immunity—which they were going to get over the dead body of every major member of both the Cortez and Nast Cabals. The Eisenbergs had gravely insulted the Nasts by turning traitor and the Cortezes—despite their morals—wouldn't let Savannah's kidnapping slide. But Mariah insisted that there was no other way she would hand over Savannah and her husband glared extra hard to emphasize the point, Bryce said.

The Cabals had come back with a counter-offer sometime this morning and I could hear the Nasts all over it. The Cortezes would have tried to be a little more reasonable with the first counter-offer. The Cabals would execute the Eisenbergs—slowly, painfully, Thomas-style—but they wouldn't curse their souls for all eternity. The situation was still at a standstill as the Eisenbergs discussed the issue.

Calling up everyone else at the warehouse confirmed that nothing further had been found. It was only at ten that Bryce called back.

"They fucking blew themselves up!"

"What?" I clutched the phone tighter and tried to make out what was going on in the background as Bryce continued talking.

"They blew themselves up. I don't fucking—" He broke off, shouting at someone, muttering curses and I could hear the general chaos behind him. "They set the charges off. Took out the whole warehouse and themselves. It's fucking gone."

"Is...did...." But I couldn't bring myself to ask.

"It's been an hour. So far they've only recovered the bodies of Edmund and Mariah. No sign of Savannah. Or the kid, if he was ever there."

I let out the breath I had been holding. "Why did you wait so long to tell me?"

"I wanted to be sure. Don't yell at Paige, I told her not to call you. But anyway, it looks like she's still out there somewhere. We haven't been able to find anything that might match the room they were holding her in."

"It was probably underground." It might have helped her survive that way, but that would mean she would be buried alive. "Are they still digging?"

"They aren't going to stop until the whole place is excavated. But the shamans are pretty sure that there were only two of them. And the sensing spells seem to agree. So some of the bad guys are dead. We just have to hope there's not too many more of them and find Savannah."

"Are you coming back soon? Or are you going to see if you can't find other...copies of them, or whatever?"

"Everyone seems to think the answers are in the rubble, so we'll probably stay around here. Has Hollis called?"

"No. He hasn't. I called the hospital at nine. They said there was no change."

Bryce swore. "I was hoping—anyway. I'll talk to you later."

"Sure," I said and we hung up the phone.

Spreading out my spell books, I went back to work, one ear listening for the phone. But when it rang twenty minutes later. It wasn't anyone from the warehouse.

"Gillian?" Nadira's voice was shaking, nothing like the calmed, poised woman I found slightly insufferable. "Is Bryce there?"

"He's out with the task force. Are you okay?"

"I—" Her voice broke, as if she was trying not to cry. "I screwed up. I need you—I need see you. Right away. Please don't tell Bryce."

"What's wrong?"

"Just, please, Gillian. As soon as you can. It might not be too late."

And then she hung up.

Since Grant wasn't around, I had to walk myself over to the garbage nearby. Paulson entered the room at the sound of me hurling and went to get me a glass of water. I took it gratefully, gulping down the cool water that was doing nothing to calm my panicked thoughts. Exactly what had she screwed up when screwing around with my body?

"We have to go to Nadira's," I told the bodyguard. "Now."

"Grant said to stay here."

"Paulson!" My voice came out as a shriek and I forced myself to calm down. "I need to go see her. Immediately. Call Grant, confirm it with him—and know I'm going to go no matter what you do, so you better be prepared to hold me down if you don't want me to leave."

He realized I was serious, because he sighed. "Fine. Let me call Grant first."

"I don't want him telling Bryce. Not until I know what she wants." If she had screwed up, Bryce could never know. He would never forgive his grandfather if it wasn't a lie. "Make that clear."

"Okay," he agreed. In the end, we got permission to go. Paulson did have to listen to a long lecture about how to do his job properly, but he spent most of it making faces at me, so Grant's lecture went quickly and in the end we piled into one of the numerous black SUVs the Cabals had lying around and began driving to Nadira's house.

"If I was pregnant, could you hear a heartbeat?"

"Not for weeks," he said. "You think—you think that's why she wants to talk to you?"

"I don't know. I hope not." Taking a deep breath, I pushed on. "I really hope not."

"She's a complete overly emotional nutcase," Paulson assured me. "That's what Grant said. He didn't say it like that, of course, because he's Grant, but that's what it would have translated to if he was normal. So I wouldn't worry too much. She's probably just feeling lonely today and figured scaring you would be the fastest way to get you over."

"How weird is it that your explanation makes sense?"

"I don't make the rules."

We just lived with them. It didn't make feel better, exactly, but it calmed me down. It very well could be true. She could just want to talk. With a sigh, I wished she had the decency to pick up the phone when I tried to call her back.

When we pulled up in front of the gorgeous mansion, it was to find the gate wide open for us. "I think she really wants to see you," Paulson unhelpfully summarized.

"I don't think it means good news awaits me."

He didn't either, but he had the decency not to point it out. He just dropped me off at the door and waved good luck.

The door was opened before I walked up the stairs.

"It's good to see you," Nadira said, enveloping me in a giant hug. "Come on, we need to be in the living room."

"What did you do?" I demanded. "Because I need to know. Now. Whatever you did to me—"

"I have to undo it. Just give me a second, it won't take long to fix. Returning you to your natural state never does."

I let her push me onto the couch, even let her get her hands under my shirt, before I managed to ask again: "What did you screw up the first time?"

"I'll explain in a minute, Gillian. I'll explain when—when the bodyguard finishes parking the car. Did—" The smile on her face was painful, in its artificiality. "Did you bring Grant with you?"

"He's with Bryce." But the warning bells I had been too freaked out to hear before suddenly kicked in, loud and clear. I would have bet good money that Nadira would never hurt Bryce—but that didn't mean she wouldn't hurt me. "Listen—"

My mouth stayed open. I just couldn't move.

Her amber eyes glanced up at whoever had entered the room, taking up position behind me, wide with horror. Then she hurried back to work, trying not to look at me, and trying not to cry.

"They have Papa," she told me. "I had to..."

Not that I could say anything thing to that, because I was in a body bind, but there was a hell of a lot I wanted to say. Not that reminding her that her father didn't talk to her, didn't want her, would have likely left her to die if the situation had been reverse would have done anything. Blind hatred seemed to be interpreted as love by Cabal brats.

"I'm done," she said, finally. "You're perfectly healthy now, Gillian. Perfectly healthy. I hope you can—"

When the gunshot went off, I wanted to jump, but I couldn't. I could only watch as her body crumpled to the floor, the orange material of her outfit spreading outward along with the blood.

Even if he hadn't taken a starring role in my nightmares, I would have recognized Edmund Eisenberg from the night at the club, even if his long face and dark hair speckled with white were rather forgettable. There was a gun in his hand.

"I let her father go," he explained, like that somehow made it all better, like this was just a business deal gone right. The white carpet was turning red underneath her as he put down the gun and pulled out a syringe from his coat pocket. "Don't worry, Gillian. This won't hurt a bit."

Then he stuck the needle into my arm.


	42. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

* * *

"Gillian...Gillian!"

"Have you found her yet?" I asked Bryce groggily, trying to get comfortable on the hard mattress.

"This is officially the stupidest way of finding someone ever," a voice snapped.

A familiar voice. I slowly opened my eyes. And there she was. Only partially lit from the dim light bulb that served as the only light source, but there was no denying it was her. Maybe she was a little beat up and her clothes were a little—a lot—dirty and she smelled horrible after so long in captivity, but it was still her.

"Savannah."

"I can't believe you got yourself kidnapped. You're like officially the most useless—"

I cut her off by hugging her. She hissed in pain and I tried to pull away but she decided otherwise. It was so strange that after all this time she was here, solid and real. The stench was a little overwhelming, but that didn't stop me from holding her tighter.

"It's good to see you too," I said, with what I knew was a stupid grin, but I just didn't care. She was there.

"Yeah, yeah..." she muttered. "Welcome to hell."

The limited light wasn't a problem since the room wasn't that big anyway. Savannah would have a hard time standing up comfortably in it and it was probably the same distance across, roughly speaking. A small storage container did seem the best bet, with the smooth metal surface everywhere, but it was hard to know where this hell hole was.

"It's not too bad."

"Not too bad? I've been stuck in this fucking place forever, Gillian. Trust me when I say it's fucking hell. There's absolutely nothing to do."

"I don't suppose you have something to drink? My mouth tastes horrible."

Even in the half-light, I could tell she was rolling her eyes. "Would you rather apple or orange juice? Wait a second while I check what I have in my fridge."

"Sorry." I tried ordering my head to stop pounding but it didn't work. "How long was I out for?"

"I don't know. A while. They brought you in just before lunch and it feels like forever since then." There was a tiny bit of hope on her face when she asked, "Does anybody know where you are?"

It was then that I remembered Nadira, lying on her floor. Paulson knew but...she had been scared I had brought Grant, Grant who had practically raised Bryce. He wouldn't have forgiven her for that, even if he had been okay with her getting me killed. They must have killed Paulson, too. Grant knew where I was and he would tell Bryce when I didn't come back but would Bryce risk telling anyone that he knew Nadira before he investigated himself?

Oh god. I hoped so.

"I doubt it. We're not going to get rescued that way."

"Shit."

"Someone will find us. They were making progress on finding you when I got myself kidnapped. I wonder why they bothered coming after me..."

"They don't actually tell me anything. Because I'm their _prisoner_."

"No need to be snarky. I just watched someone get murdered in cold-blood in front of me, so excuse me for being a little curious about why it happened."

"Now who's being snarky." We grinned at each other. "If we're performing a healing spell, then another witch won't hurt."

"We aren't performing a healing spell."

"Oh. Okay. So what does the spell do?"

"You wouldn't believe you if I told you." When she had settled on the ground next to me, I said, "It might be a resurrection spell."

Her reaction was very similar to what my own had been—she laughed for a long time, until she realized I was serious. "You have to be kidding."

"I wish."

"Could I...survive that? Even if you cast the spell at the same time?"

I was an idiot. "We wouldn't both have to cast it. Since you got yourself thrown into the time tear we've been obviously sharing power, especially when one of us needs it to save our respective lives. That might be why they had to have you—because not only are you insanely powerful, but you also have access to my power. With all that, maybe you _could _cast this spell without dying before you finished."

"That isn't exactly comforting." Savannah perked up. "At least this means they have a plan. I would hate to get kidnapped by second rate bad guys."

"I'd rather get kidnapped by bad guys I could escape from, but that's just me."

"Yeah, yeah. God, it's so awesome you're here. I was going nuts having no one to talk to. So what's been going on?"

I told her, because there was nothing else to do but talk. I told her how everyone had been going nuts—Paige figuratively, Leech literally—looking for her. I told her about meeting Kane, which made her horribly jealous. There were things I didn't want to tell her, like my mom helping, but she already knew that one, anyway.

"Ugh. I can't believe you talked to the Wicked Bitch of the South."

"Could you not? Seriously, Savannah, that's my mother you're talking about."

"Who you hate," she pointed out.

"As my mother. But she did raise me for thirteen years and she's all I have left. So just lay off her, okay?"

"Oh Jesus Christ Superstar. What the fuck? How can you forget that you hate her? She deserves it."

"Let's not talk about the people I should be mad at, okay? Because guess who's on the top of that list?"

"What the hell did I do?"

"I've been worried sick for days, risking my life to try and get you back, watching everyone around me go slowly crazy. And for what? All of this could have been avoided if you'd just stayed where you were supposed to! What would have been so hard about that? You always do this. You always leave me. Why couldn't you just stay with Leech back at my house like you were supposed to? Why do you have to try and be some sort of daredevil every single time?

"Everyone is freaking out. I was totally okay with torturing someone who was just doing his job, Thomas Nast is beginning to think my continued existence is a personal insult, and I have no idea if I'm turning evil or just growing up—and you weren't there. I needed you and you weren't there. I hate you, I fucking hate—"

The slap came out of nowhere—I was so sick of being pushed around, I launched myself at her, yanking her hair. Wrong move. She pulled back so I scratched her. I'm ashamed to admit we ended up rolling around the floor, smashing into the sides of our prison as we clawed at one another, shrieking and hissing. She was a lot bigger and a lot stronger, but the captivity had weakened her and I had the room to manoeuvre. I managed to get my knee up and into her stomach and then scrambled to the far side of the room as she struggled to catch her breath.

When she did, she burst out laughing and so did I. She settled back against the wall and in a moment I came over and sat beside her. After she muttered a healing spell for the scratches on her arm, she said, "Didn't that feel good?" She burst into more peals of laughter. "We should have taped that. You can make a fortune from catfights."

"Only if there's mud. Or water," I pointed out. "I can't believe you slapped me. I've never seen you fight like that."

"Well, if I'd had punched you, I would have knocked you out. But I needed that," she confessed. "I missed having physical contact."

"Physical contact? You trying to proposition me?"

"Shut up, slut. I'm glad you're here, even if you were an idiot for getting caught." She looked down for a second and then sort of muttered, "You know I have to go out and do the stupid thing. That's just who I am."

"I know. Apparently that's why I love you."

"Uh, o-kay."

"Blame your brother. He's been putting me in touch with my feelings, weirdly enough. You know you're messed up when Bryce Nast is less emotionally retarded than you are."

"I refuse to believe that about the evil half-brother. If you're messed up, it's just because I wasn't around."

"True. Sabrina School forever?"

"Damn straight."

We bumped fists and then set about trying to figure a way out.

The door was clearly the easiest, and possibly the only, way out. But Savannah hadn't been down in this room for days without doing anything. The thing was impossible to break through, physically or magically, she declared and I believed her when she said she had tried everything. But there had to be another way around it.

Eventually, we decided to try attacking them when they brought us dinner. That sounded like the best way to go about doing this, since it was the only time the door would open otherwise. Since there was two of us, we were hoping the binding spells wouldn't hold as well, allowing us to fight our way out of there.

Unfortunately, the bad guys didn't take our vague plan into account when they stopped by next.

When we froze, we knew they were coming. We just had to wait for our moment. The door swung open, but all I could see was a concrete wall on the other side of small, poorly lit gap. The view did nothing to help me narrow down our location, but that wasn't my concern right then. Once we got out of our cell, we could figure out where we were.

"Hello, girls," a female voice said in the kind of voice librarians use to introduce very special guests as she walked inside our room. Two men followed her (both Edmunds) and while she did something that suddenly made the light bulb actually work properly, they came up to each of us, pulling us towards opposite sides of the containers and pointing guns right at our temples.

The body bind spells broke.

"Guns are for cowards and humans," Savannah snapped. "And what kind of sorcerers use witch magic?"

"The kind that has learned many things they never should have had to bother with," Edmund snarled. "Now stop moving or your friend dies."

We hadn't exactly planned for weapons—the human devices changed the game. We'd have to cast the spells simultaneously, without them noticing even though they were breathing down our necks. That didn't look like it was going to happen.

"We need to talk," the woman said, directly our attention at her.

I had only met Mariah Eisenberg once before and she looked even more of a mess now than she had at the party. Her hair was a curly disaster, her face was lined with wrinkles, her clothing was plain and more than a little dirty and she looked twenty years older than when I had last seen her. Still, she had a calm about her that made me furious. Kidnapping, murder—it wasn't important to her. She was just following her day planner.

"This is the psycho bitch," Savannah needlessly called out. "Twenty bucks says she's just going to go over the spell. _Again._ She loves hearing herself talk about it. Like a necro knows anything about spells."

"Thank you for that introduction, Savannah. As always, your delicacy is astounding. However, today I actually have to speak to Gillian. It's seems only fair, since you have your own spell to learn, that she learns one as well. Though she only has until tonight to learn it."

"Or what?"

"Or Thomas will kill you. If you survive."

She held out a sheet of paper and when her husband (one of them, at least) nudged me in the back, I took it. It was a pretty complex spell—part ritual, part casting. I didn't need to translate the words since I had seen this spell before; though I hadn't thought I would need it for twenty years, if I ever did.

"Gillian?" Savannah's voice brought me out of my panic. "What is it?"

I read out the first line in Greek, trying to force my throat to get used to the sounds, trying not to think about why I would need this.

"Is that...? That's for having kids when you're, like, ancient."

"Not necessarily," I said. Academics, I could concentrate on academics. "The spell technically can be used on anyone who couldn't naturally conceive, for whatever reason. You don't have to be old, like Ruth Winterbourne was. You just have to be..." underweight. "Not one hundred percent naturally suitable."

"But you need...hair? Or was it teeth? Or _something_ from a guy, right? You can't just virgin birth this thing, even with a spell." A horrible idea occurred to her. "If your fucking husband touches her, so help me god I will destroy you all."

"It won't come to that," Mariah said, friendly smile on her face. Bitch. "Right, Gillian? We'll take you to the body, tonight, when it comes it. You'll be able to gather all the blood you need then."

"Gillian—what the freaking hell?"

"I..." If I hadn't already thrown up everything in my stomach, I think I would have been doubled over. As it was, I had to remind myself to breathe. "I may have told your grandfather your brother knocked me up in order to get him to help with the investigation."

"You what?"

"It made sense at the time."

"I don't know what happened, but I'm pretty sure that does not make sense, like ever! What is—what body do you want her to use?"

Who else knew I knew Nadira?

"Bryce should be here in three hours. You have until then to learn the spell, Gillian, though you won't need much more than ninety minutes. We aren't going to make you perform it, of course, but you can imagine how unhappy Thomas will be when he finds out that not only is his grandson dead, but the great-grandson he needs as an heir never existed in the first place."

"There's no need to kill him. Just knock him out and take whatever you need from him, then. It'll be safer for you if you don't go after Thomas's grandson and this way—"

"Shh...," Mariah whispered, but it was her husband's gun digging into my forehead that made me shut up. "Bryce Nast has to die, Gillian. And you need to be with child. If you'd prefer my husband, you can say so. Experience has taught us that you tend to prefer Bryce, but we would be willing to listen if you changed your mind."

"You don't have to kill him. Thomas—"

"Is a good employer who doesn't deserve this. We are sorry about what we have to do to him. But Bryce dies tonight, no matter what you do. He's fulfilled his purpose—he got you to us, after looking after you _so well_ the past few days. His time is now up."

She stepping close to me, stroked my cheek, just like a good mother would when offering words of comfort. "Hollis was _glad_ our son died. We're going to destroy his."

"And my son?"

"The Nasts will take good care of him."

I flew at her, then—it was ridiculously stupid. There was a gun to my head, a gun to Savannah's; I shouldn't have reacted. But I wanted to wipe that self-satisfied, selfish smirk from her face. As much as I knew life was unfair, hypocrisy was always hard to tolerate.

Unfortunately, Edmund was too close.

His arms were around my waist, holding me in place. His counterpart was shouting from across the container, threatening Savannah. Mariah just looked at me, a faint smile on her weathered face.

"It's true. We've seen it, so many times. There's no need for you to worry. Sean is a very attentive uncle, even if he disapproves of you. He adores his nephew. Your son has a wonderful life; probably because his parents aren't in it. Remember that. Good luck. I'll see you in three hours."

She placed a watch in my hands. With that, she turned and walked casually from the room. Her husband(s) recast the binding spell, leaving us frozen in place as they closed the door. This time they left the light on, like it would help.

When the binding spell broke, I found myself unable to move.

Then Savannah's arms were around me.

"You okay?"

I glanced down at the watch. It was counting down. Three hours. We had less than three hours to get under here or I would be stuck in the middle of a nightmare.

"It was the only thing we could think of to get Thomas to agree to help you, to make sure the Nasts gave everything they had to the investigation. I mean, Bryce might have been doing it just to see what Thomas would do..but it did help the investigation, even if Thomas has been after me to abort it since we told him. So I don't see why he would want me to keep it after Bryce di—after."

Maybe Thomas and I shared something in common, after all. If someone was dead, it was that last little piece... Or maybe it was a lot less sentimental than that. If Bryce died, Thomas would be very close to running out of suitable heirs. Better to take the sure thing from its unsuitable mother.

"You don't have to perform the spell, you know. Even if they do kill Bryce...we can figure something else out, afterwards. Paige and Lucas could help us hide you or—"

"Sean needs an heir. Thomas can't just forget what I told him; he'd have to punish me if it turns out I was lying." Especially if Bryce died mad at him. "The Cortezes can't afford to take him on."

Neither could I.

"Okay, new plan, then. I am going to get us out of here before then if it kills us."

"But preferably not, okay?"

"That's plan A," she assured me.

That finally got me to smile. "Thanks."

"Any time. So...how do we get out?"

I snorted. I was plan girl; she was action girl. Right now that ball was in my court. Too bad all I could think about was Bryce's body on Nadira's floor.

"So who's Hollis, anyway?" Savannah interrupted.

"What?"

"They said they were killing Bryce to piss off this Hollis guy, right? They...may have mentioned that name before. _She _loves ranting about it. It didn't mean anything to me, but maybe if you could figure it out...maybe we could figure out what they're going to do next. Or maybe we could get him to help us when we get out."

"Hollis is already helping with the investigation. He's on the board of directors, not to mention he's—he's Leech's dad."

That's why they killed Nadira and why they wanted to kill Bryce. Leech was already crazy, so there wasn't much else they had to do to drive him over the edge.

"Oh. No wonder the big guy wants to kill himself when all this over."

"Not helping, Savannah."

"Sorry. I just...why would he care about you being pregnant?"

"What?"

"Seriously. I get why you might end up performing this spell in order not to have the grumpster kill you, but why would they go to all the trouble of kidnapping you just to perform it in the first place? Killing Bryce to hurt Leech, I get. Having you give birth to Nast spawn, I don't get. Why would Leech be upset about that? If anything, wouldn't he be happy? He seems to like kids."

"Hollis is on the board, so maybe...I have no idea. I'm not the psycho Cabal employees."

"Maybe we should tell them you already do a great approximation of morning sickness already."

"Screw you." And then it hit me. "Savannah? What would be the effects on my spellcasting power if I was pregnant?"

"You'd be stronger," she said, excitement creeping into her voice. "You'd be more vulnerable to attack, but as a whole, you're more powerful because you're sort of tapping into extra spellcasting power—sort of what I'd be doing with you, only naturally. Especially if you were, like, just pregnant. You're body would barely feel it but your power would increase."

"Enough to cure genetic illness?"

"Hell if I know. But if they want us playing around with magic that powerful, they aren't going to take any chances. If you can increase someone's power—I guess I should be grateful they didn't decide to make me perform the spell too."

"I guess even psycho bad guys disapprove of incest."

Never mind that Savannah simply wouldn't ever perform the spell, no matter how many alternate realties you put her in, no matter how many variables you stacked against her. She wasn't like me—not everything in her life was a trade of sorts. Her body wasn't something she would ever trade to save herself. Nor would she ever feel obligated (however twisted it might seem) to give something back to a dead man, the first person in forever who had wanted to help.

"Good. Crap. That doesn't really help us get out of here, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does."

While it didn't help us in the literal sense, it did tell us something very important—they couldn't afford to hurt us. The guns had been for show; Edmund had grabbed me instead of shooting me because they needed both of us in order to perform the spell. So...

"I'm waiting."

"I'm thinking. We need to get out of here, but you can't get through the door right?"

"Right. Any spells directed at the door don't work, but I can still do magic. They had to let me practice the spell."

"What if..." We needed something that would put us in danger (but not enough to kill us) so they would have to open the door to help us, but something that would also make it chaotic enough that they wouldn't be able to stop us from getting past them. Something like...

"Okay, Savannah. Ready to learn a spell?"


	43. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

* * *

Those who cannot do, teach. It's an old axiom and surprisingly more true than most people like to think. Bryce had never finished teaching me the spell he cast the spell to make buildings shake, but I had learned enough that I was able to teach Savannah. In just under an hour (which gave us just under two hours to stop her brother from dying, but I was not thinking about that).

"Ready?" she asked me.

We were pressed up against the side of the container, hoping that we'd be safe there, in case the roof crashed down on us.

"Ready," I called. Savannah would cast the spell and I would lightning bolt the hell out of the first person who came through the door.

Her hand found mine and she began to chant.

A low rumble echoed around us, followed by a louder, thundering sound. Then there was the sound of cracking and Savannah's hand tightened around mine to celebrate her triumph. Wherever we were, hopefully people would come rescue us when Savannah brought everything down on us.

She cast the spell continuously, the way I had seen Bryce do it. Keeping myself up against the wall grew difficult as the entire container began to vibrate. And then I heard it—the sound of people rushing to get the door opened.

I got the first Edmund with a lightning bolt; in a stroke of sheer dumb luck, he dropped his gun and I was able to scramble for it. Guns had been my father's life—but while I could identify most assault rifles by sight, I had no idea how to shoot them. Randy had succeeded in protecting me that way.

Fortunately, you don't have to be able to use a gun to throw it at someone's face.

The other Edmund didn't have time to realize what had happened. As his hands went to protect his face, I muttered a binding spell. It was an old habit and it worked under pressure when other spells wouldn't have. It gave me the time to cast a spell that froze his neck. Picking up the gun that had again fallen to the ground, I swung it as hard as I could into the icy patch I had created. It shattered. It almost took his head clean off.

I had never intentionally killed anyone before today. The occasionally lightning bolt was as far as I used to go, and I was so weak I doubted I had ever killed anyone with it. So I expected to feel bad about it. Maybe I would. Later. That second, I was almost glad. Because he had pushed a gun against my temple and watched as his wife told me how they required me to make my own nightmares come true.

Also helping stop the guilt was the fact that the Eisenbergs didn't really seemed alive. Not that I thought they was some kind of zombies but there was a sort of inevitability in their actions. Mariah talked as if she was merely reading lines in a play she already knew the ending to. Death just seemed to be a temporary rushing off of stage.

Maybe I was over-rationalizing.

"Come on, Savannah," I called, checking the pulse on the other Edmund. He was still alive, so I stopped his breath until he wasn't. Savannah didn't even glance down, just kept repeating the spell as she stepped out of the container she had spent almost a week inside.

We were in a basement.

"Savannah!"

She stopped as I dove out of the way of a falling beam. The house (it honestly seemed to be a residential house) seemed to be no more than a little worse for wear, with few cracks in the wall and a gaping hole in the ceiling above us.

"How do we get out?"

"No clue. Start looking for an exit."

"How creepy serial killer is it that they have this thing in here? Are construction workers morons or what? How do you not think this is being used for nefarious purposes?"

"We can complain to the city later."

"Here," she called over only seconds later. The staircase had fallen away in places, but we rushed over it anyway. I went first, since I was lighter, and when what was left held for me, Savannah followed as quickly as she could.

Upstairs was a mess—things had fallen apart in a spectacular fashion. Furniture was everywhere, though it didn't look like they had too much to begin with. Paintings were crooked, there was plaster everywhere...and where were our resident bad guys?

The knockback spell took me by surprise, flinging me into Savannah, knocking us both backwards. We were lucky; we didn't end up falling back down the stairwell, but instead flew into a lavishly decorated dining room, hitting the wall and knocking plaster everywhere. I saw stars, but managed to scramble after Savannah when she took cover behind the buffet. Considering it had an unfinished basement from a horror movie in it, the house was really nice. Fortunately, Savannah could concentrate like I never could. Weak or not, she was already mid-cast.

"Turn," I shrieked and she did, unleashing the lightning bolt spell on the Mariah who, already in the room, was practically on top of us. I swore and picked up the axe she had been brandishing. Mariah was a necromancer and that meant she was stuck relying on her own physical strength. I might be small but I was pretty sure I could take her, as long as she didn't have the bigger weapon.

Savannah cast a quick knockback spell at the Edmund who had pushed us into the corner in the first place and then knocked the nearest chair into the next carbon copy that walked through the door. I had him in a binding spell, so the force of the chair managed to knock him out.

We couldn't stay where we were, though, since they had all the advantages and we couldn't cast spells forever. Savannah already looked too pale for my liking, but she was also in charge when we were fighting for our lives. When she waved me out, I slipped into the kitchen, to sneak around the back to surprise them while she kept them distracted.

No sooner than I entered the new room, than I spotted Mariah behind the counter. She was a lot younger than the one who had talked to us downstairs, but not as young as the Mariah from the party. She was talking on a walkie-talkie, telling whoever was on the other end to meet at the rendezvous point. I walked quietly and she didn't even hear me coming. I guess they really were useless without knowing all the answers first.

I swung the axe sideways, catching her on the side of the head with the flat part of the blade. She went down, hard. I didn't check her pulse; I should have taken her out, but she hadn't attacked me first. Call me squeamish, but I didn't want to behead someone and see all the actual blood. So I just pretended she was no longer a threat and moved on.

Outside, I could see versions of Mariah and Edmund slipping out the back, just about to disappear into the trees. Savannah would yell at me later, but I wasn't going to leave her alone in this house, even if I should stop the Eisenbergs. Instead, I hurried around and cast a binding spell on the Edmund coming through the door. Then I hit him with the axe.

Something hit me from behind and I dropped, more from surprise than anything, turning as I fell to see yet another Mariah (this one relatively younger) with a frying pan over her head. I launched myself at her legs, toppling her.

I may have been small, and I may have neglected my training for the past two weeks aside from the gym at the hotel, but I was still stronger than a corporate lackey, especially one without useful supernatural powers in a fight. I got my hands around her throat and squeezed. While she was desperately clawing at my hands, I readied a lightning bolt spell, only to find myself being hauled off of her.

Edmund took the lightning bolt spell instead; Mariah was screamed as he fell to the ground. But she seemed to be the only one left around, besides the Edmund Savannah was straddling back in the dining room, unable to defend himself as she beat the shit out of him.

"That's for the cattle prods! That's for calling me useless! That's for throwing me into another dimension! That's for spitting in my food!"

"Savannah!"

Mariah had managed to grab the axe, but I ducked just in time, rolling out of the way as quickly as I could. Saying a spell while you're breathless and terrified for your life is just as hard as it sounds. So I picked up the frying pan she had brought and tried blocking the axe with that.

Who keeps an axe in their house anyway?

People with torture chambers in their basements. Duh.

The axe went through part of the pan, knocking it right out of my hands. Shit, shit, shit. She brought her hands over her head and as I was debating throwing myself right at her or just turning and running, she froze.

"Thank you, Savannah."

"Any time," she said, coming out of the other room. Since she was leaning against the wall to support herself, I hurried to pick up the frying pan and bash Mariah over the head with it. Whatever worked. She was definitely still alive, but she would at least have a concussion—which was only fair, because I'm pretty sure she had given me one.

"You okay?"

Without glancing at her grazed knuckles, she shrugged. "I thought there would be more of them."

"They escaped out the back."

"They escaped?" But she wasn't mad at me. "I thought we were supposed to be more valuable than that."

"Let's just get out of here. We'll figure it out after," I pleaded.

Though she would never ask for help, I hurried to her side, to help her stand up straight. Her week in captivity had done more damage than she wanted to admit. Hell, the fight had taken more out of me than I wanted to admit. I was already scrapping the bottom of my spell casting power as it was. So we were equally weak as we leaned on each other to walk out the front door.

It was locked. Of course.

Savannah let out a stream of curses, but cast the unlocking spell herself. "I fucking hate these people."

"Tell me about it. Kidnappers who don't want to get robbed? Assholes."

She was laughing when we pulled open the door. She stopped laughing pretty quickly.

We were staring at...I don't even know what we were staring at. Well, I did. I just couldn't believe it. I didn't think they made Cabal forces this big.

"So, Gillian...I don't think they were running away from us."

"I think you're right about that."

We were at the end of a nice dead end street in the California suburbs (a really nice street, since they needlessly had basements) and as far as I could see there were black SUVs and men with machine guns everywhere. How were they going to keep the neighbours from noticing this? In front of us stood a small army.

Something launched itself over the white picket fence in front of the house. A big, black gigantic dog-thing was walking towards us. Beside me, Savannah smiled.

"Hey, Jeremy. The bad guys are getting away in the back. Could you go catch them, please?"

With a bark, the wolf was off, followed by more wolves and some of the men in black. There was a shout from somewhere, and we turned to see Paige and Lucas practically sprinting towards us. We hobbled towards them as best we could, but we didn't make it out of the yard before they reached us.

I got picked up sometime during the hugging, but more because Savannah didn't let go of me, even as she threw her arms around them. I didn't mind. It was nice to feel as if I had been missed, even if it was only second-hand.

Paige and Lucas had just finished welcoming back their ward when Adam came out of nowhere, hugging her tightly until I was embarrassed for her (she would stop blushing one of these days). More people would be coming soon and Savannah got that because she put an end to the hugging.

"How did you find us?" she demanded, interrupting their questions about how she had escaped (and how I had beaten them there—wasn't I back at the hotel?).

"Thomas," Lucas said with no reluctance. "The Nasts managed to get the address from Penelope Yi—Jaime was apparently wrong about the curses place upon her. The house belongs to someone in their organization, though they can hopefully prove they were unaware of the use that was being found for it. The werewolves picked up your scent when they came to investigate and they called in Kenneth and when he saw all the protections on the place, he called in reinforcements."

"Does that—is Leech awake, then?"

Lucas didn't know how to answer my question, but Paige nodded. "I think I heard Sean was told he was doing better than they expected."

Saying Sean's name apparently had a magical effect, because suddenly he was right there. With a delighted shout, he wrapped his arms around Savannah. Since I wasn't exactly fond of her brother at the moment, I finally noticed people really needed to stop hugging her. She wouldn't complain, but there were some nasty, if not life-threatening burns on her body that someone needed to look at.

So I told Paige, "Someone needs to look her over. They weren't always gentle with her."

"We'll take her to a hospital now." She hesitated and then added, "There's a bodyguard behind us who seems anxious to speak to you."

When my step towards him wasn't as sure as it should have been, Grant teleported beside me, catching my arm. "Thanks," I muttered. It probably wasn't proper protocol that had him wrapping his arms around me, but I appreciated it just the same. I needed something steady.

"How in the world are you here, Miss MacArthur?" he demanded as he pulled away. "You're supposed to be with Mrs Patel, not...here."

"It's...I need to talk to you. And Bryce. He's here, right?"

I didn't even have time to start begging, because Grant was already nodding. "Thomas—Mr Nast doesn't wish to abandon his grandfather. However, I was told to bring you back when you had a minute."

A look at Paige (and her resigned, if loving smile) and then I was holding out my arm to Grant, who took that as agreement. We appeared in the middle of the crowd a few times before we found ourselves on the outskirts, twenty feet from a crowd of tall blonde men. None of them looked happy to see me, but only one was furious about it.

Not that Bryce was able to leave his grandfather's side. We had to wait until Grant politely requested his presence for a moment, then wait until Thomas gave permission, before he could come over. Even then, we were still too close his relatives for my liking, though from the way Thomas was glaring I didn't think I was going to get much more privacy. It wasn't so bad, though, because he might not have been allowed to touch me, but Bryce had this look in his eyes that that was as good as being hugged, anyway.

"How the hell did you get here? You're supposed to be at the hotel."

"Have you bothered calling me since ten? Because if you had, you would have realized I haven't been at the hotel for hours. I've been getting to know your psycho employees."

"They... are you okay? They didn't...you're fine, right?"

It was actually a lot better than being hugged.

"I'm fine. But...Paulson's dead. I think."

"What?"

"If you haven't heard from him since lunch, telling you I disappeared, I'm guessing he's dead."

"Grant?"

The older bodyguard looked stricken. "I've been communicating with him all afternoon."

"Apparently not. Great, another security breach to look into." His eyes returned to me, studying me carefully. "What's with that look, Gillian? Because if there's something wrong with you and you're not telling me, I'm going to be pissed later."

"I'm fine," I repeated. But I couldn't just blurt out what was bothering me, not with all the bastards he called family standing around. Animals could smell blood, after all. I took a step closer and muttered as quietly as I could, "Hug me."

"What?"

I mouthed the words again, glaring all the while. With a quirk of his eyebrows he informed he thought I was insane. Still, he braved their disapproving looks and stepped forward, put his arms on my hips and lifted me up. After I wrapped my arms and legs around him, I whispered in his ear, as quietly as I could: "I went to Nadira's. Edmund was there. He killed her; I saw him. I'm so sorry Bryce, but she's dead."

The arms around me tightened a little, but only for a moment. At least he could hide his face in my hair until he could collect himself. When he started to shake, he dropped me more suddenly than I had expected. Paler than normal, he pushed past me for a second, trying to give himself a moment. I smiled as brightly as I could, as if everything were fine, and asked Grant if he couldn't get me something to drink. The bodyguard was quick, but Bryce returned before he did, catching my eyes, pleading with me to laugh this off, to explain this was another one of my crazy stories.

"I'm sorry."

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Um...why the hell were you there, anyway?"

This time, when I lied, it wasn't to help me. "They took her father. She contacted me to come help her and we were trying to figure something out when Edmund attacked us. He put me in a body bind curse and I—I couldn't help her. He shot her."

He swore, but the colour was coming back. He would freak out later, in private. "If they ask, Leech introduced you, okay?"

With that, he turned and hurried back towards his grandfather, pulling me along after him. Thomas didn't look pleased with the success he was having today and his expression didn't get any happier when Bryce asked: "Where's Bidibadi?"

"At the office," Josef replied. How much did it suck that I was learning their names?

"Are we sure?"

Thomas snapped his fingers and suddenly four of the people around him were pulling out Blackberries and cellphones, contacting the shaman. "What's this about, Bryce?"

"Gillian overheard them say something about him. I just want to make sure he's okay. She thinks they killed his daughter."

"Send someone to check on her as well," Thomas ordered. "Just in case. But make sure she doesn't see."

"We can't locate him, sir," one of the flunkies said. "His bodyguards aren't responding, either."

"Are they coming after the entire board now?"

I almost had a heart attack. Thomas Nast actually turned his face in my direction, locked eyes with a witch and spoke (almost) politely to me. Trying not to let my surprise show, I focused on answering. "I don't think so, sir. It sounded like they were going after Hollis, and anyone else who grew up with his son, but the rest of the board should be safe."

"Then they should have gone after me first," Bryce interrupted.

I made a mental note to grab his lighter as soon as possible—I couldn't risk having Thomas see the spell that was currently in my pocket. All I did was say, "They were going to. They told Savannah your corpse would be joining us tonight. Bidibadi might have been bait."

Thomas seemed to like that excuse, since it was far better than acknowledging all the rules Bryce had broken to see Nadira, or, heaven forbid, acknowledging I might be important enough to be bait. He nodded, once, before declaring:

"I am personally cursing as many bodies as we find. Understood?"

The flunkies nodded, suggesting curses he might prefer, while I tried to disappear from view while not offending anyone. How well I did was debatable, but when Bryce informed his grandfather there was also another security breach I slipped to Grant's side without it being obvious I was running away.

Thomas didn't like hearing about yet another security breach, which is why the board quaked when he demanded someone explain how that had been able to happen.

"The Eisenbergs haven't been allowed in the office since their involvement was pointed out to us," some AVP stammered. "There's no way to circumvent communications otherwise."

"We are supernaturals, in case you've forgotten," Thomas snapped. "There are magical means of interference."

"You'd need a whole gallon of demon blood, just to start," Josef said. "There's no way—"

Shit.

"We didn't drain the demon," Bryce interrupted. He didn't bother looking apologetic, because it wouldn't have done any good. The board was already looking at him like he was a moron—even Grant looked a little horror-stricken at our carelessness at leaving demon blood in a dead demon.

"Lucas didn't say anything either," I muttered. That was the problem with hanging around white hats—they didn't know dark magic. My mind went back to the symbols on Lucas's body, on the ritual we had seen them performing—the one we never had discovered. The Eisenbergs were spellcasters; it wouldn't have been much of a stretch to think they had just written random Hebrew symbols on Lucas.

A fake spell, and a reward for the men of Twelve-Thirteen who desperately wanted to die. If Lucas died, so much the better to scare Thomas by pissing off Benecio Cortez. They got us to kill the demon they used to get Savannah and I involved with the Nasts in the first place, and then they got all the demon blood they needed. Weren't we helpful?

"Someone fix our security," Thomas demanded. "Again."

"Still having trouble with that, Thomas?" a voice boomed. A strong, powerful voice that belonged to the most powerful supernatural in North American—and Benecio Cortez wasn't coming alone. Lucas, Paige and Savannah were following him, as well as his own group of corporate flunkies. I wanted to hide behind Grant.

"Not for long," Thomas said, turning to address his younger counterpart.

Behind Benecio, Savannah waved hello, causing her brother to roll his eyes, causing her to flip him off, making him laugh. I ignored their silent conversation and paid attention to the corporate heavyweights beside them.

"Of course. I have no doubt you've managed to contain the loose cannons in your organization even though they continue to elude the rest of us."

Thomas glowered—which only got worse when Savannah cheerfully declared: "It's not his fault they're smarter than him. They just already know what's going to happen. Sure, this time you caught them off guard when you showed up just now, but they'll fix that next time.

They hadn't expected Leech to come through, pushed on by guilt and the knowledge he would end up like his mother, but with nothing to show for it. But Savannah was right—next time they would.

Though Thomas was throwing a tiny fit that said otherwise. "I suggest we head them off when they return to the time tear they insist on opening on my property so there isn't a next time. Give out the location of the warehouse," Thomas snapped at his subordinates. "I want everyone there now. That's where they're heading—if we don't stop them from getting there first, we're just going give them another chance to try again, and get it right this time. Benecio, you're help is no longer necessary. You have your—" he snarled the word "—granddaughter. I can take care of my own employees."

"If you're sure you don't require assistance—"

"I'm sure. Now why is everyone still standing around? Move!"

The flunkies flew to work, as did the board of directors. Sean was politely thanking the Cortezes for all their help, while Thomas was telling Josef to find out what had happened to Bidibadi. Leaning on Adam, Savannah meandered over to her brother.

"Could you just give us a sec?" she said to the half-demon, who nodded, surprised, but supportively, and slipped back over to Paige's side. But she motioned for me to stay put, so I did.

"What?" Bryce demanded. "Unless you want me to hit you, I'm not touching you. It would kill him."

"I know." Savannah straightened her back. "I want to see Leech. Gillian told me what he did and I want to thank him. They aren't going to let me go on the hunt for the bad guys, but I figure if he's at a hospital and I have to go to a hospital...we might as well do both at the same time."

"I can't take you to a Nast hospital."

Savannah looked at me expectantly, so I spoke up: "Technically, since she was attacked by your employees, the company has a certain obligation to make she's all right."

"Grandpa will kill me."

His sister shrugged. "Tell him what Gillian said. You were just covering his ass."

"It's not going to go over well."

"So I should get Sean to take me?"

Considering she had essentially grown up as an only child, Savannah wasn't bad at the sibling stuff. Bryce narrowed his eyes, glancing at his brother talking to Benecio Cortez—Sean would take Savannah just to prove a point, even though he should go and make sure his grandfather didn't start trying to rip the Eisenbergs limb from limb with his own hands. It would be bad for the old man's health.

The board was gone and Bryce desperately wanted to see Leech. That much was obvious. With a sigh, he finally caved. "Fine. I'll take you to the hospital. But don't be annoying about it."

"Please. I'm never annoying." She turned around and, at the top of her lungs, called out to Paige: "Bryce is taking me to the doctor! Don't worry about it! The Nasts will look after me!"

"Can I kill her?" he asked me.

I didn't answer. I was too busy restraining myself from hugging her again when she turned around. She laughed at my expression, of course, saying, "Stop worrying about me, Gidget. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. But you're here."

"Grant?" Bryce called. "Help her to the car."

When Grant offered 'Miss Levine' his arm, she laughed some more, easily taking it, calling him Jeeves and Shorty and anything else that popped into her head as she enjoyed having someone other than the walls to talk to. I trailed along after her, beside her brother.

"They'll catch them all," he told me. "It'll be over soon."

"I know." A girl could hope.

He opened his mouth, thought better of it, then said: "Did...was she...did he make her suffer?"

"No. He was a crack shot. She was quiet before she hit the ground."

"No one knows how to do vengeance like Grandpa," he said, to reassure himself. "He'll find them and curse them."

"And that will be that."

Once again, Bryce opened his mouth, but there was nothing left to say. He helped me into the SUV without a word.

Savannah filled the silence on the way over, cheerfully calling everyone, relaying the hunt for the Eisenbergs to us. Some of them had headed towards the warehouse, but not all of them—no one had gotten a good count, though the beds at the house suggested there was at least fourteen of them. At last count there were seven corpses. That didn't reassure me as I destroyed the spell they had given me. They had been too sure; they had done this more times than I wanted to think about.

"They'll find them all," Savannah told me. "Besides, where are they going to hide?"

"Considering they've done this at least seven times," at the very least, assuming none of them had died the other times and I thought that was unlikely, "I'm sure they have a few spots picked out."

"We'll sniff them out. Now excuse me while I call the head of the Cortez operation," she winked.

I rolled my eyes at how quickly Savannah went power mad, before glancing over at Bryce, who didn't even look like he was paying attention. He was going to have to tell Leech when we got there. No wonder he looked awful. I took his hand and gave it a small squeeze. With a quiet sigh, he managed to quirk his lips upwards. It wasn't very reassuring.

When we arrived at the hospital, Grant asked permission to leave, to hunt down Paulson's body. There was a quiet reverence in his words that managed to make the situation serious; even Savannah's overly loud "Paulie's dead?" couldn't destroy the heaviness that settled over us. Bryce gave his permission, asking if the older man was all right. With a nod, Grant took his leave, while Savannah turned to me, confused and a little upset. We had won—her happiness was supposed to be flawless.

And now it wasn't.

"Paulson might be fine," I suggested to her, but the frown had come and now it wouldn't stop.

"Can we see Leech now?" For the first time, she sounded like she understood what he had given to help us. When we went inside, it wasn't going to be fun.

"Come on," Bryce said.

The woman behind the reception desk jumped three feet in the air when she saw a member of the inner family walking through door. She might have pulled something, she stood up to greet him so fast. As Savannah rolled her eyes, Bryce got us directions to Leech's room. It was a beautiful hospital, gleaming but still homely enough not to be intimidating. That didn't make the thought of Leech spending the rest of his life in a place like this any more reassuring. But I was becoming a pessimist—he hadn't gone crazy yet. Maybe the spirits would never discover what he had done. Maybe they would leave him alone.

Maybe.

"Come on. This way," Bryce said. "Don't stay too long. He's still a little shaky. And someone needs to look you over. You look like shit."

"I look better than you," Savannah tried to snap back. They were both too tired for this, but they were trying.

"The injuries do disguise your resemblance to a horse."

"Okay, week of captivity or not, I can still kick your ass."

"Please, you couldn't do it healthy. Like hell you could do it now."

"Watch—"

The three of us stared at Mariah Eisenberg, who smiled at us sweetly. "Gillian, could you please shut the door?"

I shut it. I had to. Randy might not have taught me much about handguns, but I didn't need to know the make and model to know that it was a very bad thing that she had a weapon pointed at Leech.


	44. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

* * *

To ensure he wouldn't hurt himself even if the spirits put ideas into his head, Leech had been strapped down on the bed. For all his size and strength, the big man couldn't move. His dark eyes were wide with horror as he lay there, completely at Mariah's mercy. She ran her fingers through his hair—she was younger than the others had been. Maybe even the age she was supposed to be.

And angrier than the other versions of her had been.

"How did you get here?" Bryce asked. Both he and Savannah were sizing up the situation and I could only hope that whichever one of them decided to do something stupid first, they wouldn't get us all killed.

"I stole a car and drove here. It was easy enough to get inside. I helped design the security for this building. Though only Hollis knows that, of course, since he didn't bother to give me any credit."

Her eyes went to the corner of the room, her hate obvious. The three of us turned to see Hollis, seated on a chair, the chair he had probably been sitting on since we had dropped him off the night before, his dark eyes fixed on his son. I don't think he had heard a word she had said; the second she had walked in with a gun, all he could see was how this would end.

She was going to kill his son because she couldn't save hers.

"Put the gun down, Mariah," Bryce said. "I can give you immunity, just please put the gun down."

"It's too late for that and we all know it." The most terrifying thing about her were her eyes, the way they glowed with all the things she had seen and the terrible certainty she thought that gave her. "It's too late for anything except this. Your immunity means nothing—kill me, curse me, part of me lives on. We share everything, every memory of every defeat. And I share our victory, even though I die today. I will escape all of Thomas's curses, as long as part of me remains alive. Somewhere the spell is working. Zach is safe—but I'm not there. He may have his mother, but he cannot have me. So all I can do is show Hollis that he was right; it's such _a waste_ of time caring about your children."

"I'm sure he'd really love to apologize for that right about now," Savannah hinted. But Hollis was in his own personal hell and didn't respond.

"I can see if you move your lips," the necromancer informed the spellcasters. "There's nothing for you do to but wait."

"For what?"

"Do you want to tell your son what you did, Hollis? Or should I?"

Hollis shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking anywhere but at his boy lying on the cot. But he couldn't escape Mariah's vengeance.

"I called Claire," he said. "I thought—"

"She's coming here?" Leech managed to gasp out. Mariah drank in the horror in his face, the hate he felt for his father, loving it. Over my head, Savannah and Bryce were looking at each other, planning—they knew what this meant. If Mariah was waiting for the ex-love of his life, she wasn't waiting around to give the woman a hug.

"I'm sorry," Hollis said. "I'm so sorry, Martin. I wanted to help."

She was going to kill us all; she was going to make him watch. The massacre would begin when Claire arrived. Savannah and me, it didn't matter the order, then Bryce, then Claire, then Leech—and Hollis last of all. Or maybe she wouldn't kill Hollis at all, just let him live knowing his son died hating him with every fibre of his being. I think that's what she would do.

"Mariah," Leech pleaded, desperate now, straining against his bindings, "They haven't done anything. You don't even know the witches; let them go. Punish my dad all you want, punish me—but they haven't done anything wrong. Just..."

"I can't do that, Martin, no matter how helpful the witches have been in the past. Now Gillian has something to tell you, something I've been waiting all day for you to hear. Or maybe it would be better coming from Bryce."

She gave us a half-smile, then threatened, "Or I could tell him."

Bryce stepped forward, trying to draw her attention to him, speaking without preamble: "Nadira's dead. They took her father, she got stupid—they shot her. When we cross over she's going to bitch us out for not living long enough to go to her funeral."

It was a pathetic attempt at a joke, though I doubt Leech heard. Bryce had made it too real. Like his father, he could see how this would end and he couldn't handle it.

The gunshot rang out in the silence.

I could only gape, trembling, staring down the barrel of a gun. Taking a deep breath helped and my body was finally able to inform my brain that I was unharmed.

There were good things about being short.

"I have eyes," Mariah told Savannah. "I can see you trying to cast. Next time, I'll kill her. Understand?"

"Yeah," Savannah muttered. "How the hell did no one hear that?"

"The rooms are soundproof," Bryce answered, eyes on Mariah who was thankfully (and I didn't care what sort of person that made me) back to pointing the gun at Leech.

"So no one can hear us when we scream for help, right, Hollis?" she asked her boss. A look passed between, one of understanding, even in all this. They had built these rooms to give themselves some dignity when the spirits tried to take everything from them. No matter the hate between them, they would always share an understanding of that fear.

"Well, that's just fucking perfect," Savannah snapped.

"Do you do this every time?" I asked her. All I could do was keep her distracted, express a vaguely academic interest in what she had done. Try not to take her vendetta and plots against me personally. "To Leech? Or do you just do that when there's nothing left for you in a reality?"

"We try and teach Hollis a lesson every time. He never learns, though."

"Can't you go back in time before he insults you? Or—why don't you just go back before your son is born and just...make sure you have a son who isn't sick?"

"He wouldn't be my son then, would he?" She looked almost sorry for me, that I didn't understand this. "Besides, the tear won't let us go back to before we created it. We never could figure out why, but we can't go back to when Zach's alive."

So the time tear really was a sick son of a bitch. It showed us a nightmare future so it could get off on our fear. It gave the Eisenbergs the power of god, just not the power to see their son alive. Bastard.

"Why us, though? I mean, we sort of figured out why, but how did you? There has to be thousands of witches out there and I can't really see Nast employees going to witches before they tried the sorcerers. No offence."

"None taken." She smiled at me, warmly, and again she made me think of some sort of trying-to-hard soccer mom. "You see what she's doing, Martin? It's always worth keeping Gillian alive, to hear her talk. Twelve-Thirteen has grown particularly fond of her; though personally, there's only so much of her I can stand. Once I've grown tired of her prattling, I'm going to kill one of the witches. You have until then to decide which one you want to see die first. Now what is it you wanted to know?"

"How'd you figure out you needed us?" This was what I could do. Let Savannah and Bryce figure out how to take out the necromancer with a gun. I would distract her until then.

"It took us a long time," she admitted. More than seven lifetimes. So many more than that, it was written on her face. I was going to be sick. "We went to Thomas, first, but he gave up so quickly. The dead must remain dead, he said. He was never comfortable with the power of the time tear. Luckily, we found Penelope."

"You didn't need to kill her."

"She wasn't comfortable with the power she had, either. What's the point of all that power if you can't use it? We had to take it from her. Edmund tried to perform the spell. He tried—so many times. But it was witch magic. It killed him. It killed Penelope. It killed everyone. We couldn't get it to work.

"We ended up trying with Paige Cortez. Her mother had been head of the North American Coven and she was sympathetic to our plight—we told her Zach was sick, that she could save him. It killed her too, but" her eyes went to Savannah, sparkling, loving, "you saved her. You brought her back."

"I hope I kicked your ass afterwards, too," Savannah spat. I took her hand, squeezed, reminding her to stay calm and start planning.

"Once we saw what you had done, we realized it had to be you performing the spell. There were just two problems. But that was all right. The thing about the future, you all have to understand, is that it's not completely variable. People are fairly predictable."

"I wasn't stupid enough to perform your stupid spell?"

"You always perform it. You can't help wanting to prove you can perform it." Savannah flinched, mostly because we all knew Mariah was right about that. She was too proud, sometimes. "No, you weren't the problem. Thomas and Gillian were, though it took us a long time to realize that."

Great. I was getting lumped together with Thomas Nast.

"Thomas will almost always react poorly to certain actions. He hates you—there's no doubt about that. Any reality we enter and you're always just Kristof's murderer to him. But he will not let us use you to perform the spell; he thinks it will kill you and so he won't let us force you to help us. We've never been able to figure out why."

Bryce snorted, but said nothing. I guess he didn't want to explain his grandfather to anyone outside the family.

"We had to take you without his help and it was difficult. But eventually we succeeded and the spell worked. We were able to hold Zach as he had never been before and—" Her face fell. "Sean arrived too quickly. He killed our son and most of us in the fighting. The next time, we tried a different moment, only it didn't work. We kept trying and trying and we couldn't get it to work again. It took us the longest time to figure out what was different about the first time."

"I was pregnant," I blurted out. "Right?"

"Yes. Though at first we simply thought you had to be alive. It was only after many tries that we were able to arrange for the second success. You told us you were pregnant and we, foolishly sentimental as we are, almost called it off. Fortunately, your habit of crying wolf served us well. We simply didn't believe you—and it worked. Only...it killed you that time. You were much older than you are now and the child was too far along. Savannah survived, though. As did Zach."

"I'm tougher than Gillian is." But there was no pride in Savannah's voice; just Cabal steel. Mariah was too far gone to realize she should have been very afraid.

"Yes. We still aren't sure how you brought the Cortezes down upon us, that time. It was impressive even if I really wish you hadn't been able to. But we learned from that. And we tried to be merciful. We stopped waiting so long, so you had a better chance of living through it."

I wasn't stupid enough to believe her—if they wanted us to perform the spell when we were younger, it was only because the spell had a better chance of succeeding then.

"But it was almost impossible to find a future where all the variables existed. The two of you were never pregnant at the same time. If one of you was pregnant, either the protection around her was too great, or Gillian's health was too poor to let her finish the spell, or you were both too old to survive, or the other was dead. If we forcibly impregnated one of you, the other—well, you taught us that way was not in our best interests fairly convincingly."

"So you resorted to emotional rape instead?" I was trying to keep the edge out of my voice, but I was getting tired of her game. It turned out I didn't really want to hear about all the terrible things she had done to me in various alternate realties, after all.

"We found something else. Just as Thomas is fairly predictable, so it turned out that the three of you are as well. As long as we forced you together and made sure you couldn't separate for a while, the situation resolved itself. Sometimes naturally, sometimes with the help of the spell you willingly performed, but always the situation resolved itself. The two witches were young and together and eventually their power was amplified by the too volatile mixing of witch and sorcerer blood."

"I didn't sleep with my sister in any of these alternate realities, did I?" Bryce asked. There was something in his tone of voice—the Cabal brat nonchalance—that got under my skin. He was planning something now, something unpleasant. Someone was going to end up dead.

"No, you didn't. You know, the only thing that ever impressed me about you, Bryce, was your ability to handle those women you play with—yet you can never manage to keep a mere witch from outmanoeuvring you. Edmund says you must have been doing it intentionally since you're usually more careful than that, but between you and me, I think he's just trying to stick up for a fellow sorcerer. I think the witch is just that much better than you. The Nast fortune is just a little too tempting for her to pass up and you're too distracted by her pretty little mouth to stop her."

I flinched, even as I felt a tiny bit of hope. After all this time, she really didn't know us at all. There was no need to trap Bryce—he was already stuck. I was the one who ran away.

"Where's Edmund?" Bryce demanded. He even took a step forward, so she turned the gun on him.

Even if she was a psychopath, she knew a threat when she saw one. "Stand back. Do you know, Bryce, that your grandfather only cries in public every other time you die? Should we find out what he does in this reality?"

"Don't be stupid. You kill me and my grandfather will make sure that your precious reject stays dead."

Bryce really couldn't be polite if his life depended on it.

"Don't talk about him that way!"

"Why did your husband let you come alone, Mariah?"

"He knows there's no coming away from here. There's no hope for us if we can't return to the tear. Then again, we always have before."

"And he was never out for blood, was he? It wasn't personal—he just needed an heir. You're the one who got it in your head that it had to be that dead little weakling and it was somehow Hollis's fault and Edmund just went along with it because there's just no reasoning with women like you."

"Zach is not just Edmund's heir; he's his _son_."

"That's not what he's telling my grandfather right now, as he asks for immunity. He might even get it. I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking another wife, one that wouldn't give him useless children—"

She had kidnapped me and cheerfully admitted to having me murdered, raped and who-knew what else in other realities. And yet, at that moment, I felt sorry for Mariah Eisenberg. Because Bryce had done what he did best. He found exactly where it hurt the most and he stuck in the knife and he twisted as hard as he could.

It was her fault, she thought, every day for more days than most people could ever imagine. She believed it was her fault her son had died, no matter how many times she had been told it was just an unfortunate twist of genetics. It was her fault and so she had no choice but to do everything humanly (and inhumanly) possible to fix her mistake.

"Shut up," she screamed. "Shut up! Shut up! Time's up, Martin! Pick one. You have ten seconds and then I'm just going to shoot them both."

"Hollis was right about you," Bryce told her. "You're clearly not management material. Can't even make life and death decisions."

"I've changed my mind. So sorry, Martin, but you lost your vote. It's your choice now, Bryce. Which one do I kill? Your sister? Or...whatever the hell your relationship with the other witch is, in this reality? Pick fast because—"

"Savannah. Kill Savannah."

There wasn't even a hint of emotion in his voice. It was like he was ordering coffee instead of sentencing someone to death. I was so terrified by his voice it took me a second to realize that he hadn't told her to kill me.

Still, the gun turned in my direction.

"So you'd rather kill your own flesh and blood? How sweet." Her finger was just dying to pull the trigger. I was going to die. She was going to kill me. My brain didn't seem to want to make sense of it all. "After I kill the blonde, maybe you can ask your sister for forgiveness. Who knows? Maybe she'll—"

"Get tired of you talking?" Savannah asked the women in the binding spell. "Too late for that."

"Took you fucking long enough," Bryce snapped. "She was about to blow Gillian's head off."

"That's your fault for antagonizing her," I informed him.

"Politely distracting her wasn't working."

While it may have worked, I wasn't going to congratulate him on his ability to piss people off beyond reason. I was still shaking too badly from having that gun pointed at me, so I just let Savannah sit me down on the bed as Bryce went to disarm Mariah. His hands weren't exactly steady either, I noticed, as he took the gun from her hand.

It almost hadn't worked.

"Can I fry her now?" Savannah asked.

"I think you've earned this one," he said as I forced my shaking hands to begin untying Leech. Savannah began the familiar spell.

"No!"

Hollis's voice cut through the room the instant the binding spell broke. Savannah was the most talented witch I knew, but she wasn't perfect. She was exhausted and we were stupid not to remember that. Mariah flew at Bryce, who was still closest, jumping on his back, hands around his neck, knocking them both into the cot, right on top of Leech. They yanked the gun this way and that as I hurried to cast a binding spell, my tongue rushing over the words, screwing up now that it mattered too much. Savannah managed to jump on Mariah's back, pulling all three of them to the floor, but also kicking into me, knocking me over and once again preventing me from saying the spell.

All three of them scrambled for the dropped gun. Mariah grabbed it first; Bryce grabbed her hand. The gun went off. Then Bryce managed to tear it right out of her hands.

In a second, the older necromancer joined the fray. Hollis picked up the chair he had been sitting on and brought it down on his subordinate's head. Over and over and over again. Flesh and brain and blood...I looked away. I had to. And then I was staring at Savannah, leaning against the wall as her shirt began to soak through with blood.

No.

Savannah caught my look of horror and gave me an apologetic look.

"That bitch."

She collapsed. Bryce and I got to her side at the same time, but he was already ordering Hollis to call for a doctor. Her chest was rising and falling at a rapid rate. There was blood, but I was used to it by now, so I ignored it while I searched for a wound to close.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to turn a gun off. I never bothered to learn," Bryce was speaking softly, actually scared now that he couldn't just bluster his way out of the situation. "I didn't think she had it in her to break your spell."

She couldn't force out a response.

"Oh god."

"What?" Bryce demanded as Savannah looked at me with bright blue eyes, already aware. She could feel it.

I brought my hands back to her chest. It wasn't difficult to remember Nadira, when Bryce had been shot, prattling on needlessly. _He's very lucky...a few more inches down and to the left, it would have caught him right in the heart...see, right there...there wouldn't be anything for me to do then..._

"Savannah...? Oh god. No. No, it can't—no. No, I love you, I love you. You—you can't. Don't leave me. You can't."

Her blue eyes looked at me, with that horrible knowledge in them. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. And then there wasn't the knowing look in her eyes. There wasn't anything.

"She can't be—" Bryce muttered beside me. "Did I just get her killed?"

"Lock the door," I ordered him.

"What?"

"Lock the door, Bryce. Now."

I had learned something from being around him for so long; I could give orders like a Cabal son, now. He hurried to do exactly as I said. Her blue eyes were too bright. I had to close them. But that was the only compromise I was making today.

"You need to cast the spell," I told him. "Now. As fast you can. The longer you wait the more likely it is to kill you."

"What—you want me to cast the resurrection spell? You're nuts. It'll—"

"She just died, from unnatural causes. It's a small hole. It should work. It'll probably kill you, but it should work. Once you've brought her back, I'll perform the spell on you. Our combined power should be enough to save you and keep us alive at the same time. Okay?"

"I don't even know the spell."

"Yes, you do. I've said it around you so often you have to have picked it up. You can't help it; you're great with magic that way. The sounds just get in your head. You know the spell, Bryce. You're just too scared to cast it."

"I'm not dying for her. I—I'm not dying for her. I hardly know her."

"She's Kristof's daughter. She's Sean's sister. She's your sister. You can save her. We can—"

"Calm down," Leech said, but he wasn't talking to us. "Savannah you need to calm down. The pushing feeling is the wards trying to banish you—you shouldn't be able to stay in here. But it'll be okay. Someone will be by, soon, to help you onwards. It'll be good there. Your parents will be there and others...it's not so bad."

"Bryce, please," I begged. "I won't let you die for her. I promise you; trust me enough to do this."

"You shouldn't play God, Gillian."

"Why not? Whoever's playing at being in charge right now is doing a lousy job."

"The dead stay dead. That's the rule. You don't get to fuck with that. Not even the Cabals get to fuck with that."

"Says who, Bryce? And why should we listen to them? What has it gotten us? Are you happy? I'm not. I haven't been for years. But we can do this. No one's telling us to, everyone would tell us not to, but we can. We can save her, even if we are breaking every rule in existence to do it."

"And dying is supposed to make me happy? You're the suicidal one, not—"

"It was never about killing myself," I said, finally able to figure out the truth, now that it really mattered. "Never, even when it looked like it was. It was me trying to be brave enough, maybe even crazy enough, so that if it ever happened again...if she walked out that door again...I could stop her. I wouldn't just sit there crying, I would dig in my heels and hold onto her and she would stay. I'm a coward, I know that about myself, but for her...I have to be better. And trust me when I say that if you don't do this—if you don't bring her back, if you don't make her stay—you will regret it for the rest of your life."

"Gillian," Leech's hoarse voice croaked out. "She says it's okay. That you don't have to risk this. She understands why you wouldn't want to—"

"Bullshit," Bryce interrupted. "She's related to me. There's no way she's doing anything but bitching that we aren't helping her fast enough."

From the look on Leech's face, it was obvious Bryce was right. She was his family. Family came first. I hadn't remembered before, but as I watched him gaze down at his sister's corpse, I finally remembered Kristof wasn't the only name on his back, that Dana hadn't been the only one who had died at the hands of a vampire. Bryce could only watch, then, he had once told me. I didn't think it made him a coward (just a sheltered kid who panicked at the wrong moment), but I knew better than most that nothing anybody could ever say would make him believe it.

"If I die because of this, Gillian, I will haunt you for the rest of your life."

But once he made a decision, Bryce committed to it completely. There was no more reluctance, no more hesitation. He was going to help. He wasn't going to feel the same way about his sister as he felt about his cousin; this time, he wasn't just going to stand there waiting for help. Even if he didn't want to die.

"My crazy plans work," I promised. "Most of the time. Now hurry up. Hollis might get through that door."

He quickly finished untying Leech, telling the big man to block the door, at least until all three of us were alive to receive medical helf. His friend grabbed his arm, but Bryce shook him off. "The witch is right, man. I...I have to at least try."

"Don't die on me."

"Hey, you went crazy on me first."

Leech cringed, told Savannah we were working on it and began pushing the bed in front of the door. Bryce sat down, cross-legged across from me on the other side of Savannah's body. I went over the spell, once, slowly, and just like I thought, he already knew it. He had a great ear.

So he took her dead hands in his and began the spell, a prayer to Osiris.

Bring her back to us, whole and new.

The colour drained from his skin. I tried not to panic because I had expected that. It would drain him, maybe even kill him, but I could fix him. I could fix this. The only person I would let it kill was me.

He doubled over a little when he hit the three-quarter mark, but kept going, his voice fainter, his eyes dimmer but still alive. Maybe he could do this without my help—maybe not. He was shaking as he got to the end, trembling so badly Leech started to move away from the door though my gaze stopped him. Bryce caught my eye, held it (he was a fool for ever thinking he could stop me from getting in over my head), finished the spell, and closed his eyes.

Savannah's eyes flew open.

Thank you. Thank you Osiris, thank you God, thank you time tear, thank you whoever. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"Big foot?"

"It...?"

"Just a second, okay?" I said, trying to hold her eye while desperately reaching towards her brother. My hands, covered in his sister's blood, frantically felt around for a pulse, felt around for something, anything, the faint flutter of a heartbeat. There was nothing.

But that was okay.

"Just give me a second, okay Savannah? Just give me a second."

This was it. No mistakes. No classic Gillian MacArthur fuck ups. This would worked. Or—no or. This worked. I would save him and then kick his ass for making me feel this way.

I began the prayer. It was long, especially for a spell, but it was doing far more than most spells and so that was acceptable. Heat shot through my body, stronger than ever before, almost strong enough to shock me into stopping. Almost.

I pushed on, saying the words as carefully as I could. I had spent hours on this spell and it was paying off. The words came without thought as I clung to Bryce's dead hands.

The power was intoxicating. I was tapping into everything I had, everything Savannah had. The addition of Savannah's power at the club had been like my very first shot. This was a barrelful of twenty-year-old Scotch. I was trembling with the strength of it all, not because I was weak but because it was so strong. But I kept my eyes on Bryce's dead blue ones and kept on talking. Talking and talking. Twenty lines, twenty-five, twenty-seven, thirty...almost there. Thirty-two, one more...finished.

Light when off in front of my eyes, blinding me. My body was on fire, burning and blistering and the pain crippled me. I blinked furiously. From somewhere far away I could hear a familiar voice calling my name. Savannah.

I smiled through the pain and then started screaming as fire shot through me, my heart about to burst from the strength of it all. And then—


	45. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

* * *

"Freaky," Savannah said.

I had to agree. Freaky was really the best word for it. I think the three of us were in a room. I think. It was so huge that it made even the overcompensating Nast house seem tiny. The white marble walls extended as far as I could see and I could barely make out where the black marble floor met the walls. There were giant pillars holding up the walls—they weren't modern monstrosities, but neither were they the classical Doric, Ionic or Corinthian columns I associated with the Greeks. I didn't know enough about classical architecture to hazard a guess on what it actually was, but they were huge, no doubt about that.

"This better not be me dead," Bryce snapped.

"Holy shit," Savannah muttered, ignoring him entirely. She grabbed my arm and pointed to one of the thousands—millions—of pictures on the wall. They were gorgeous, alternating mosaics or paintings and portraying all the little moments of life that everyone rarely appreciated. I gasped as I looked more closely.

"That's Abyssinian. And that one's Roman. And that—"

"That one fucking moved."

I looked where she was pointing and gasped. It was difficult to see, but one of the men was ever so slowly moving his sword. "Wicked."

The floor began to rotate and I grabbed onto Bryce as Savannah grabbed onto me as we were turned around. The room really did go on forever. But finally we stopped, facing a tangled web of...yarn?

"Thread of life as an over-done metaphor much," Savannah said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, piss off the unknown, probably powerful deities," I shot back.

Bryce snorted: "What are they going to do? Embroider us to death?"

I should have let both siblings die.

Raised on a platform in front of the thread was a spinning wheel. A woman—the most average looking woman I had ever seen, which sounds unfair but it was really the only way to describe her—sat behind the spinning wheel. Before I could really digest what I was seeing, she stood, and somehow between the sitting and the standing she changed. I wouldn't have been able to describe it to anyone, other than she aged forty, fifty years before I blinked. The graying, dark hair became coarse and white, and the mature face became weathered and wizened.

"Eve's daughter. We should have known. Tell me, girl, did your mother put you up to this?"

Savannah snorted. "Naw. But I'm sure Daddy will be proud. He might even buy me a pony."

The old crone was suddenly a little girl, a pretty little girl with golden brown hair and blue eyes and a vibrant violent dress. She was giggling. "Eve and Kristof have arrived outside. They seem anxious to get in."

I grabbed Bryce's hand then because he looked like he needed it; that's what my face had looked like when I asked him to do the spell, I was sure. People shouldn't be allowed to want things that badly.

The crone appeared. "We will deal with them later. We have important business to attend to. Do you three realize what you have done?"

Savannah shrugged. "I was just the dying bystander."

"And it was Gillian's idea," Bryce helpfully said.

"You both suck," I announced. But I tried to remain calm as I explained, "Bryce performed a resurrection spell on Savannah. And then I performed the same spell on him. So we shouldn't really be here."

"Unless we're all dead," Bryce suggested.

"Then why would we be here? If we were dead there would be more flames."

"Or at least pitchforks," Savannah said.

"Please. You two aren't going to hell. I might not even be going there—the people we kill bring it on themselves."

"If you're finished, Kristof's son, could we continue?" the crone snapped.

"Go right ahead."

A pale man approached the dais, carry a knotted group of threads. He knelt down and placed it in front of the crone, who was now the middle-aged woman. I was going to get so confused. Remembering the Greek names for the Fates—because really? Totally Greek—I silently named the little one Clotho, then Lachesis and finally Atropos. The crone was only one whose Roman name I could remember. Morta. Death. I think she was the one we were going to have to deal with.

Indeed, Atropos picked up her shears and ran them over top of the tangled threads. "We've never seen such a tangled mess. You have bound yourselves together in a way we've never seen—but there is not enough life force between you for all three of you to survive."

"What are they saying?" I demanded of the siblings. They didn't dare answer.

Lachesis spoke kindly, but her voice was firm. "While you were in your world, we couldn't find where one of you ended and the others began. In here, it is still difficult, but not impossible. We will work on it. Yet, there there is not enough life force for three of you. So we are offering you the choice, since you seem to have demanded it, as we work to untangle you. One of you must remain behind. Would you like to choose who?"

"Better us than you," Bryce agreed, before I could open my mouth again.

"We're talking it over first," Savannah insisted and the Fates quickly agreed. Atropos even said we could have all the time we liked.

None of us found that reassuring.

By unspoken agreement we gave ourselves a moment. The siblings swore and I stood there and quietly freaked out. And then we all pulled ourselves together and set about figuring this out.

"I'm not dying for anyone," Bryce started us off. "I performed the spell, but with the express intention of not dying."

"There's two of us and one of you," Savannah said. There was no real heat in her voice, however, I couldn't help but notice. "And I'm sure fewer people will die if the two of us go back instead of you."

"Let's not bring morality into this."

"Because you know you'd lose that way. Evil Cabal son and all that."

"Morally, you couldn't leave me behind. You're the one that died, sister dear. Gillian's the one that wanted to save you. I just got sucked into the insanity that is the two of you."

"You're selflessness is inspiring, brother dearest." She glanced over at me and I realized she had come to the same conclusion as I had. It had to be us. Because it was only fair and because...

"Even if he did volunteer—" "Which I won't" "—We can't go back to Thomas without his grandson and expect to live through the encounter."

"I know," she muttered. "Well, I guess we already know how Bryce is going to vote between us. Not that I'm bitter, or anything."

"Please. I was buying you time. The crazy bitch was obviously going to do the opposite of whatever I said. She was trying to punish me."

"So you wanted her to kill me?"

"Savannah was the one trying to cast. We had to keep Mariah's eyes off her. It was just the smart thing to do in the situation."

"I see," Savannah said, arching an eyebrow. "Well, since we can't pick you, which one of us do you think should stay behind?"

For maybe the first time since I had met him, Bryce looked decidedly uncomfortable as he looked at the two of us, with our arms crossed and our expectant faces. Not that his opinion would sway us (unless it's what we wanted to hear), but it was hard not to push when he was practically squirming.

"This really isn't any of my business," he muttered.

"Sure it is. You performed the spell with us."

I took pity on him; we were good witches, not manipulative necromancers. "Could you just give us a second to figure this out?"

"I'm going to go stare at the creepy art."

That left Savannah and I staring at each other. Just the two of us. And one of us had to die.

Bryce had been wrong. I wasn't trying to get myself killed. Because when it came down to it...I really didn't want to do what I knew I had to do. I was a mediocre witch at best. The most I was ever going to do with my life was rediscover ancient and dangerous magic that ended up killing me, if I didn't do something stupider first. Savannah was strong and powerful and could actually do something spectacular with her life. And I loved her; I would do anything for her.

I just really wished it didn't have to be this.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I threw my arms around her. "You really do have no choice but to jump Adam's bones when you get out of here. Or _finally_ just move on. Just...do something, with your life."

So I said the words, even if I couldn't make myself _want_ to stay behind. The afterlife didn't seem all that bad, but it wasn't life. I may have been bad at life, but I didn't want to give up just yet.

"Are you kidding me?" Savannah said pulling away. "Clearly, you're the one who's going back. As much as I appreciate the gesture, I'm the one who got shot. Not you. I'm dead. Not you. Magic shouldn't be allowed to change that."

"But that's stupid. I'm useless and you're...you're you. Besides, I won't go back and tell everyone else the spell didn't work because I was too much of a coward to go through with it. I won't."

I think we were both full on crying at this point, though we both would have denied it. "You're such an idiot. I won't let you stay. It was worth a try, but in the end, I'm the one who got herself shot. I died. Not you."

"It was an accident. You shouldn't have to pay for that."

"And you should? I'm sorry I got shot...I should have gotten out of the way. Bryce could have taken her. But you know me..."

"Always in a fight," I said, vision blurry. "Savannah you can't die. I...I was supposed to save you."

"You did. Well, you got Bryce to, but we both know he wouldn't have done it if you hadn't told him to so it's the same thing. I'm not going to forget that." Her arms were around my neck, holding me close. "Let me return the favor."

"Why? Why do you want to leave me?"

"Don't make me slap you. I don't want to go—I am being dragged from the land of the living, kicking and screaming and mocking powerful deities. But someone has to die and it's supposed to be me. I won't let it be you."

I hugged her, hugged her until my arms started to ache. Someone was shaking but it didn't matter who it was. At least for that moment we were together.

"Why do you always have to do the stupid, courageous thing?"

"Because I'm awesome." Savannah pulled away and glared, brushing her eyes, pretending she wasn't crying. "Don't you dare forget that, Gillian. Don't forget me. When you're living your fabulous life, remember me occasionally."

"Like I could ever forget. You're my best friend. How can I let you do this?"

"It's my choice, so shut up about it."

"Actually, I think it's my choice. I performed the spell last, after all."

Savannah shrugged. "Whatever. We're doing it my way. It's the way we roll, after all."

"Bitch."

"Barbie."

We smiled at one another and then she hugged me again. She mumbled into my ear: "It was a good try. I'm not going to forget this."

Then she pulled away and called to her brother, "Make sure she gets back okay."

He didn't answer her; he spoke to me. "Grandpa won't kill you."

"What?"

"He'd understand. He'd do the same thing—he hates her, but he'd do the same thing. I'm sure of it, willing to bet your life on it sure of it. You'd have to explain everything to him and then tell him...tell him he would have done the same thing. Maybe not everything; tell him you lost the baby casting, keep Alba out of it. But the rest...yeah. Tell him."

"Is he...he's volunteering?" Savannah asked me, unsure if she was reading the situation correctly.

"It makes the most sense, you said," Bryce said, watching the Fates over our heads. "Sean can...just pick Austin. Or one of the kids. Just name them heir instead of waiting for me to get my act together."

"Like the Romans," I muttered. "Adopt the most suitable heir."

"Yeah, like that."

"Are you doing this for her? Or for me?" Savannah asked. "Or because you find the two of us together so damn heart-warming?"

He was doing it for himself. The countdown on Leech had begun, and the family would just send him back to exile in New York regardless of how badly he wanted to stay. When he went back he'd marry some debutant whose name he would refuse to learn and have children who looked to Sean instead of him. Thomas would die soon enough; the company meant nothing to Bryce. It made the most sense—at least Kristof was here. What did he have, back there?

"I thought I was the suicidal one." I never would have believed he was projecting.

"It's not—it just makes the most sense. I'm older than the two of you; I've done far more to make the world a crappier place for everyone else."

"You're going to use logic to absolve yourself of…just giving up?"

"What's the point—? You'd rather Savannah stay behind?"

"That's not fair, Bryce. If—"

From the platform, I could hear Artopos called out: "You aren't supposed to be in here!"

We spun around to see gorgeous, dark haired woman, all long limbs and kick ass attitude entering the room. She was trailed by an older man, thickening middle and thinning hair and eyes that I would recognize anywhere.

"Mom!" Savannah pulled away from me and rushed towards her mother. Bryce didn't bother wasting time shouting, just took off like a shot, crossing the room in an instant. Eve was grinning manically as she hugged her daughter, but I didn't manage even a glimpse of Kristof's face before his son blocked my view. I turned to face the disapproving Fates in order to give them their privacy.

"They'll just be a second," I promised the Fates. Artopos sighed, Clotho stomped her foot and even Lachesis seemed a little put out. Considering they were all-powerful deities, you would think they would have learned by now not to underestimate how annoying and inconsiderate Savannah and Bryce could be.

Unable to help myself, I glanced over my shoulder to find Savannah babbling full speed ahead, trying to catch her mother up on almost ten years of her life in between random bouts of laughter and tears, joy she couldn't quite handle. Meanwhile, I don't think Bryce had moved his head from his father's shoulder and he certainly wasn't planning to move out of his father's embrace as he stood there, back shaking, tears mostly muffled. He had once told me he didn't regret his father dying—I guess even Bryce was allowed a few white lies here and there.

Turning back to the Fates, I asked: "Hey, do you think there's any way you could get one of my relatives in here? I'm feeling a bit left out at the moment."

As if she had heard me, Savannah called out across the antechamber, "Hey, Gillian. Get over here. I want you to meet my mother."

I came because she called, as usual. Eve was too busy enjoying being able to touch her daughter to bother much with me, though she did give me a smile. She even shook my hand, called me short and asked me how the hell we had all gotten here.

"It's a long story, Mom," Savannah interrupted. "How did you get in here?"

With a wink and a smirk, Eve gestured towards her empty palm. And suddenly the biggest, scariest sword I had ever seen was in her hand.

"Cool, huh?"

"Totally. Told you," Savannah said to me.

"Yeah, yeah. Your mom's the best. I know."

"Hello, princess," a voice interrupted. Savannah managed to tear herself away from Eve for three whole seconds in order to give her father a hug. "Hey, Kris. Did you miss me?"

"Of course," he replied, but my attention went to his son, whose eyes were still red but was managing half a smile watching his father and his sister together for the first time. Then his eyes were on me and in them I could see a question.

Now that his father was in the room, he couldn't exactly volunteer again—performing was what he did. Nor could he let Savannah stay behind, even if he didn't want to leave me, either. So he was asking me what they wanted. What was wrong with him? They were the Fates. You couldn't buy them off, even if you were a Nast.

Or maybe you could. If there was one thing I had learned hanging around the Cabals all my life, it was that there was always a deal to be made. I just had to find it. So what did they want?

I had no clue.

"Eve," Kristof said in a strangely formal voice that drew my attention from the problem at hand. "I would like you to meet my youngest son. Bryce, this is Eve Levine, the love of my life."

A little romantic for a sorcerer, wasn't he? I guess he had waited long enough to be able to say that to someone he was related to.

"It's nice to meet you," Eve said, sticking out her hand. Bryce didn't want to take it, even now, too conditioned to believe Thomas would know everything. But having his father there seemed to override the other conditioning he had endured, because Bryce took her hand. And if his "likewise" was a little forced, it wasn't too obvious, I don't think.

They talked a bit while I glanced back at the Fates. What could we possibly have that they could want from us? It was hard remembering the mythology about them—and who knew if that was an accurate understanding of their motivations? There was no way I could figure something out. They hated the mess we had made, so that told me they were big on order. But what could I do with that?

"And then Gillian performed the spell on Bryce and we ended up here," Savannah concluded her tale. Both parents turned their eyes on me and it was fairly obvious they had the same thought—let the other witch stay behind. Because as much as they liked seeing their children again, they would much rather have them alive. It was that simple.

But Savannah noticed it to, because she positioned herself between her parents and me and ordered in a cold voice that was all Cabal princess, "You should thank Gillian for trying to save me."

Eve just laughed, but Kristof looked at me again and offered, "Thank you."

I quickly averted my eyes and tried not to blush. It didn't work. I think I went bright red. Not that I was embarrassed...I was totally embarrassed. It was bad enough all of Bryce's living relations thought I was trash—I didn't want the dead ones to disapprove of me either.

"By the way," Eve said to me, "I hear congratulations are in order."

But it seemed as if it was already too late. Stupid ghosts and their ability to spy on the living.

I drew myself up as much as I could and smiled as prettily as I was able. "Thank you, ma'am. That's awfully nice of you. What for?"

"I guess they missed the part where the two of you were just faking the whole kid thing," Savannah said, most unhelpfully.

Bryce seemed to agree with me, because he couldn't help himself from saying, "No wonder Grandpa hates her."

Kristof coughed politely and Bryce sighed. "I didn't mean to be insulting, she-devil."

"It's fine, evil half-brother. I probably should have kept my mouth shut until after you had broken the sad news to Dad that he wasn't going to get to be a grandfather, after all."

"Damn, Kris. You're getting old."

Kristof did not seem as amused by the love of his life right that second as he had before. He glared until she stopped laughing, though the look that made my blood freeze seemed to have no effect on Eve. When she was finished, she even kept talking.

"We figured that one out. I just wanted to congratulate you on also giving Thomas heartburn. It's always so much fun to watch him squirm like that."

Thomas Nast hated far too many things for me to feel particularly honored. Was there anything on the planet he could stand? Bryce thought his grandfather loved him, but how much of that was just a fatherless son who wanted some sort of paternal validation? He had been willing to be our collective lives on that he knew his grandfather, so maybe I should give him more credit. Between the two of us, it made more sense that Bryce would understand his grandfather than I would.

His grandfather who had taught him the dead stay dead, no matter what you might want.

And just like that it came to me, a plan so perfect and stupid all at once that I couldn't help blurt out: "I know what to do."

All four of them turned to me, but their scrutiny didn't bother me. I just turned to Savannah and apologized. "But you're going to have to be the one stays behind, since I'd have access to better resources if you're brother was alive. But don't get too comfortable, either. Catch up with your mom fast because you aren't staying here."

"How—?"

But I had already turned to Bryce. "How fast can Grant get to Macon?"

"As fast as possible, where ever it is."

"Georgia. My dad's old house. I left my grimoires there after he died, but they were under the floorboards. I doubt anyone found them. In my old room, near the window. He'll need to move quickly."

"He's Grant. He'll get them. What's—?"

"The spell. The one we did when we were sixteen."

Savannah burst in. "The one we had no fucking clue what it would do."

"But that bound us together tightly enough that we could bring Zachery Eisenberg back from the dead. You'll stay here, but not for long. I'm going to save you. Properly. We'll need witches, probably, I don't want to worry about modifying the spell for a sorcerer—"

"I can make the Enrights help," Bryce suggested.

"Plus me and Paige, if she'll agree, or whatever dark witch you can buy off the fastest. If two and a half people could bring back Zachery, then binding four people together should mean it'll be perfectly safe when we bring back Savannah."

For a second, I thought Bryce was going to kiss me in front of his father. That wouldn't have been outrageous enough. He decided instead to announce to the room at large: "You're going to give the Nast Cabal the key to immortality."

"Yes."

Anything, so long as it saved her.

"Enough!" Right on cue, the Fates interrupted. I knew they couldn't ignore us while we were standing right in front of them. Artopos was seething. "You don't really think you can threaten us, do you, girl?"

"They were not threatening you," Kristof stepped in. "As far as I can tell, they were simply discussing their plans for the future. Unless you have a vested interest in keeping my daughter with you, you shouldn't be concerned."

Clotho appeared, shivering, and it was an effective sight, considering how young she looked. "Even Thomas will not be able to resist the temptation to bring back what was lost."

"Then it seems you should make sure they have no reason to ask for his help."

"Make a deal," Eve snarled. "We all know how much you like your deals."

The look on her face terrified me. So did the look on Kristof's. No wonder Savannah thought she was the most badass thing around. With parents like these, people shouldn't be stupid enough to cross her.

"Time works differently here," Kristof explained to me. "You can argue with them for centuries and only moments will have passed."

Savannah linked her arm through mine. It killed her a little to look away from her mom, but she did, staring down whoever stood in her path. "So how much is it worth to you to make sure the second most powerful Cabal in North America doesn't start bringing everyone back from the dead?"

"Largest," Kristof and Bryce corrected reflexively.

Lachesis sighed, a long suffering sigh that, considering she was probably millions of years old, was actually very effective. "Why is it that every time you appear in this room, Eve, it seems we are being asked to alter rules that have been good enough for every other person in existence?"

"It's a special talent," Eve agreed cheerfully. "One that could be stopped if..."

Atropos sighed. "Would even your daughter's life be enough to stop you from shirking your duties? I doubt it."

"For my daughter," Eve promised softly.

Was I the only one who didn't have a mother who was willing to do crazy stuff to save me?

Clotho shivered again, Lachesis shook her head and Atropos scowled and then they were moving so quickly I couldn't keep up with their changes. They were just a blur of colour and half-baked conversation. I leaned over and whispered to Savannah, "Nice job threatening the Fates."

"Hey, you started it."

They were a long time coming back with a verdict. But finally Lachesis appeared in front of us.

"Any grimoires containing either the spell you used today or the spell that linked the two of you together must be destroyed if we are even to begin to reconsider sending all three of you back."

"Can't we just cut out the spells?" I didn't want to damage all of Yi's books. There were some great healing spells in there.

"They'll destroy all the grimoires," Bryce promised. "Anything else?"

Atropos resurfaced. "It may not even be possible. There isn't enough life force to send you all back."

"You don't have to send us back perfectly, you know," Savannah suggested. "Just close the hole in my chest a little bit, weaken them a whole lot and hope Leech calls the doctors fast enough."

"You could all die."

"We are in the middle of a hospital," Bryce said. "If we're going all going to be half-dead, then there's no place better to be."

"If you're a Nast," I pointed out under my breath.

"It is a risk," Atropos said. "It may work but there are no guarantees."

"We'll take our chances," Savannah spoke for all three of us. "So we get rid of the grimoires, keep the secret of immortality to ourselves, and everyone lives?"

"Everyone lives," Clotho promised. Atropos was quick to add, "For now."

I glanced at Savannah, who grinned at me. "Works for me."

"Me too," I said.

The Fates were frowning, but nodded their agreement. Excellent. It was Lachesis who explained, "We should wipe your memory, but we could hardly expect you to honor you side of the bargain if we did that. So we ask you to be discreet about what you have seen here."

We promised. "Go back and leave us in peace. And Eve? You should not have come."

Eve just rolled her eyes and began saying goodbye to her daughter. As much as they wanted to stay around talking together, everyone seemed to realize the longer we stayed, the more time the Fates had to change their mind. So Savannah and Eve were talking faster than I had ever seen anyone talk and Bryce was listening intently to everything his father had to say. If he could have, I think he would have been taking notes.

There was a look of disbelief on his face, and regret, and longing. It was too little, too late, I thought. Even Kristof couldn't teach his son to be happy, anymore.

Savannah came over to say goodbye to her father and I tried not to be too envious of the rather unconventional little family. But I couldn't help it. Oh well. Outside of this room, I had Savannah all to myself. And I was never not going to have to share Bryce.

And then my musings were interrupted as I found myself face to face with Kristof Nast. He regarded me coldly for a moment and I fought the urge to fidget, or to look away. Kristof couldn't be worse than Thomas, so why should I be scared? But I was a little more relieved than I let on when he finally held out his hand.

"It was nice to meet you, Gillian."

I took it, still trying not to blush. But it didn't really matter how embarrassed I was because I needed to know: "You told him it was okay if he quit, right? Because he'll never—"

"I told him."

Then I remembered: "But he won't listen."

"He might."

Kristof had been dead too many years.

"You ready, Gillian?" Savannah asked, coming to grab me so we could be off.

"When you are."

She hugged Kristof one more time; Eve caught my eye and winked and I found myself smiling despite myself; Bryce was coming around to my other side. The three of us lined up.

"Damn, she's short," Bryce said over my head to his sister.

"Munchkin in the middle."

"Neither of you is funny," I complained. But they laughed, turned around to say goodbye to their parents one last time, and then grabbed my arms and pulled me through the portal with them.


	46. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

* * *

I woke up to the sound of monitors beeping. Over. And over. And over. I forced myself to open my eyes, so I could yell for silence properly. But when I did, I thought I must have been hallucinating.

Savannah was sitting cross-legged on my bed playing war with her brother. The hospital gown she was wearing was clearly not standard issue, far nicer than anything I had ever seen on a patient, even if it still was just a gown that fastened in the back. She was crowing about kicking his ass when I managed to choke out my first words: "You cheated."

Savannah and Sean looked at me and then Savannah threw down her cards and laughed. "Took you fucking long enough. I was shot through the chest and I've been up for hours."

"Show off," I muttered, coughing a little. My throat didn't seem to want to work properly. Sean quickly got up to get a glass of water. "How long were we out for?"

"Three days."

"Not bad." Not too bad at all considering both of them had been dead. "Everyone's okay then?"

"Bryce and I are fine. He's still a little out of it—and then You-Know-Who wanted to talk to him just now, so he's probably wishing we had just let him die. Leech is mostly okay, except for when he's not. The bad guys are dead, we think, though we aren't sure how many of them there were supposed to be so the Cabals are still looking, just in case. And...did I forget anyone?"

"Paulson?"

She sat down on the bed and began picking at the blanket. "They found his body in Bryce's car at some girl's house. Thomas came with her dad to identify the body, which is why he's been making himself annoying here."

"Here you are," Sean said, handing me the glass of water.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I should probably go check on my brother..."

But he didn't leave, just glanced at his sister, trying to tell her something without letting me know what it was. Savannah just stared, uncomprehending. I averted my eyes when Sean started using sign language.

Savannah snorted. "You can stay if you want, Sean. Gillian won't care."

His lips became a thin line. Evidently, he thought I should.

"Fine, fine," Savannah waved him on. "Go. Leave us to girl talk."

When Sean closed the door behind him, I burst out: "The whole dying thing must have affected you more than we thought. Because the two of us don't girl talk. Like, ever."

"I know that and you know that but Sean doesn't so...he wanted me to tell you that oh-so unfortunately you lost the baby when you did whatever crazy magic _healing_ spell that Bryce, Leech and me all refuse to tell them more about. I think a doctor is going to come around and tell you soon, so you should probably start practicing the fake crying."

"So for sure they don't know about...anything?"

"Well, no one's killed either of us, or tried to extract the key of immortality from us, so I think we're safe." Her face took on a serious expression I so rarely saw on her. "That was really stupid, lying to Thomas like that."

"It was Bryce's idea. Sort of."

"He wouldn't have gotten killed if it had gone wrong. You really are a mess without me."

"That's what I've been saying for years."

She went back to picking at the blanket. "The bodyguard of the salty goodness said hi and he hoped you were getting better."

But because she didn't immediately start wondering if I had slept with him too, I knew there was something more coming. I was right. "He...asked me to remind you that your mother had requested that you call her when I was found. So...I passed on the message."

"Thanks, Savannah."

"You don't have to talk to that bi—but you could, I mean, if you wanted to, I don't care. Whatever you want."

"Does it make me really stupid for wanting to?"

Her blue eyes looked at me frankly: "If I didn't think it would piss her off, I'd be willing to risk killing myself again just to talk to Mom for five more minutes. I guess I can see why you might want to talk to your mom for a second. The bodyguard gave me a phone, if you want."

A cellphone lay on the bedside table beside me. When she saw me looking, Savannah reached over and got it for me.

"I'm going to go check in on Leech. His crazy psycho father is probably still lurking around so I'm sure he'd like some actual good company."

I said goodbye and then went through phone, looking for the number of the hotel. As I suspected, Grant had programmed the number in for me. The concierge was eager to help me reach my mother (especially since I mentioned I had been staying with them as part of the very large army that was currently paying everyone's salary). My luck didn't hold. My mother answered the phone.

When I told her Savannah was all right, she seemed happy enough that I kept talking to her, asking how her vacation was going. It was a bit like starting an avalanche; this vacation was probably the nicest thing that had happened to Lynsay in her life and she was delighted to be talking about it.

And, to my surprise, I found myself laughing out loud at some of the crazier things she had Kritsty had gotten up to in L.A.

As we talked, I realized something: I really did like Lynsay. Don't get me wrong, she was still officially one of the worst mothers on the planet. But as a gossipy acquaintance? She kind of rocked. Maybe I was too desperate for some flesh and blood family, but I think I was going to take what I could get.

She didn't love Dana—Dana didn't love her. But I wasn't Dana. And yeah, it had taken me way too long to figure that out, but there was no denying it anymore. I wasn't my sister and as long as I didn't expect actually mothering from Lynsay, we might be able to do all right.

She must have thought so too, because when the conversation wound down, she said, "If you're ever around, sugar, feel free to drop by. I wouldn't mind putting you up for a night or two."

It was the best she could do. It wasn't much, but she was trying her hardest and I needed to forgive her.

"Will do, Mom. And if you're ever in L.A. again, give me a call."

"What's the phone number?"

I told her; I think I even heard her write it down. It didn't change what had happened between us, nothing could. But trying to ignore her entirely hadn't helped me at all, so something had to change. I would see where this led us.

* * *

After the doctor came by and I gave the performance of my lifetime, I let myself take a nap. Faking heart-break was hard work; and there was part of me that wasn't faking the feeling of loss that kept washing over me. No wonder I fell asleep.

When the knock sounded on the door, it was three hours later.

"Come in," I called.

I was too tired to hide my surprise at seeing Alba enter my room and too surprised to be frightened, though the part of me that remembered Nadira's face just before she died was telling me I should be.

"Thomas thinks I came to visit you two nights ago, so the doctors think they are lying to you, when they tell you it was just a natural side effect of whatever it is you did. They don't know what happened, so they're just guessing, and I'm doing my best to lead them in the direction we want them but it would be easier for me if I knew—"

"I can't tell you what we did; I'm sure Bryce has already told you that."

"I didn't ask," she said, pretending to be offended. "As I said, they've accepted what I've told them about your poor health, as well as Bryce's request that the rest of the shamans leave you alone, so that should be everything. Oh, and if you attempt to interfere with this company and its resources ever again, I will kill you."

"If I leave without demanding anything, Thomas might get suspicious. But once he pays me off, you won't have to worry about me."

"I wish that was the truth," she said as she sat down on the chair beside my bed.

I wasn't sure how to take that, so I just said: "Savannah said Thomas was talking to him. I don't think that's a good idea."

"Sometimes even Thomas realizes there's too much at stake. He didn't become CEO for nothing. Right now, he's fixing this. Bryce will forgive him—he may even understand. Whether he does or not, everything will go back to the way it was before you."

Understand? I really couldn't see what Thomas could possibly say that would get his grandson to forgive him, let alone agree with the decision, but I held my tongue about that.

"Doesn't it bother you that the way it was before sucked?"

"Why do you say that? If Sean becomes the head of the Nast Cabal, shamans—and those with actual talent, in general—will have a much better chance of reaching the board of directors than they have ever had before. And that will be good for everyone."

I was starting to think she had agreed to go along with Bryce's plan just to keep an eye on me. Maybe he was right, she did feel oddly responsible for the girls the company tried to destroy on a regular basis. But she also had to make sure I wasn't a threat, that I couldn't try and take him away. Because Sean needed an heir.

"Thank you for your help," was all I said. She accepted my thanks gracefully and took her leave.

As I got dressed in the clothes they had set out for me, I started to think Lynsay was right, as funny as it sounded. Lynsay was right and the Cabals were wrong.

Sure, with money and power and a sometimes even a little charm, you could encourage someone to be loyal or to forgive you or even to love you. But I think Lynsay was right. The last little step, that had to be all you, or it didn't mean anything. Whatever she might have said in defence of their treatment of the Eisenbergs, I don't think Alba knew that. She thought I could have taken him away by fluttering my eyes. Bryce would never learn otherwise. The whole company would go on thinking the way it always had: you could make people do what you wanted them too.

And when it all went wrong, when there was another dead runaway in the streets because their arrogance blinded them to all threats, they would just clean up the mess and go on thinking as they had always done.

I felt sorry for them.

Climbing out of bed, I headed out to thank Leech and make sure Bryce survived whatever it was his grandfather decided to do him this time. The hallway stretched out on either side of my door. One side had more noise coming from it than the other, so I figured that's where the lobby was. So Leech's room would be...

How could I get lost in a building this small? I had no idea but apparently I was managing. Eventually, though, I ran into Hollis.

The necromancer didn't seem pleased to see me, but he was the one who spoke first:

"Can I help you?"

"Is Martin awake now?"

"Claire is leaving soon; they wanted their privacy."

"Oh. Well, if you see him before I do, tell him I hope he's okay."

Hollis nodded. For a second, he appeared less evil, despite the moustache. "The inner family has rooms in the back so as not to be disturbed. Turn left, then right at the second hall and you'll be there."

"Thank you," he left me calling to his retreating back. Cabal employees—always helpful, always rude.

Even with Hollis' instructions, I still had to ask one of the nurses where to go. He hesitated, but gave in eventually, assuming that if I had the guts to ask, I must have the authorization as well. I didn't bother to explain I was just crazy about some things.

There were three doors at the end of the hallway and Grant was not standing in front of any of them. Two of the doors were closed, so I went to the one that was opened, assuming Bryce would be in that room.

Only he wasn't.

Thomas was sitting in a very comfortable looking sitting room, coffee on the table in front of him, and an ever-smiling secretary across from him. On seeing me, because of course I hadn't bothered to be sneaky, Thomas scowled.

But he did speak to me. Not things I wanted to hear, but still. It was impressive, for him.

"We have some business to discuss, don't we girl?"

"I guess we do."

Sherri put her hand on his shoulder, touched him like he was an actual human being and not the scary CEO monster that haunted my dreams, and interrupted us.

"You can discuss that after. Don't you think?"

If anything, Thomas's scowl deepened. She seemed to take that as a sign he agreed with her, though.

"Two doors over, dearie."

I shut that door as quickly as I could.

When I reached the other door, I knocked.

Grant opened it, so I knew I had finally reached the right place. The bodyguard smiled when he saw me, glad I was alive and more: "I knew we wouldn't be able to get out of saying goodbye to you."

"You're leaving?"

Inside the room, which was four times as big as the very generously sized room I had been in, Bryce was standing by the window, tying up thousand dollar Italian loafers as he stood around in dress pants. The cross on his back didn't really seem to fit with the reserved clothing. Someone had brought him a clothing rack, one filled with suits. Or it had been, before he had tossed most of them onto the comfortable chairs around the room.

I had addressed the question to Grant and when he was certain his boss wasn't going to respond, Grant answered. "Thomas arranged a flight back to New York for us. It leaves in three hours. With the traffic, we thought it best to leave as soon as possible."

"I see."

"The East Coast division can't run itself." Bryce couldn't even turn away from the window as he repeated their bullshit.

"Have a safe trip," I told Grant.

"Thank you. Take care of yourself, Miss MacArthur." He looked so stern I found myself nodding. "Go to class. Eat more often. I made you a list, if you'd like."

"Really?"

He pulled out of a sheet of paper and handed it to me. The whole thing was very Grant-ish: strong, easy to read script, evenly written, expressing things directly, and just a little bit eloquently. All the tiny little things I forgot to do for myself that I really shouldn't. I hugged him and though he stayed there stiffly for a moment, he eventually hugged me back. He even patted me on the head.

"You two are so touching I might cry."

I flipped Bryce off behind Grant's back, though the bodyguard must have known because he shot me a warning look before he turned the full force of his disapproval on Bryce, who went back to staring out the window.

"If you don't mind, sir, I should go make sure the car has arrived."

He finally turned around to dismiss Grant. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Certainly." Then: "Don't be stubborn just for the sake of it, Bryce."

Grant waved to me and then shut the door behind him.

I headed over to the clothing rack, to give my hands something to do. "Are you sorry you came back?"

Bryce came up beside me, carefully not touching me, and began picking through the dress shirts. They all looked the same, really, but it was the subtleties that they could crucify you for, so he was careful about it.

"Of course not. I just...it made the most sense. The two of you..." I guess we _had_ been heart-warming. "I couldn't think of why I wanted to come back, besides the fact I was supposed to want to. Why should one of you die for me when I couldn't come up with a single reason to stay alive? But I'm not sorry I came back."

"No regrets and all that."

"Something like that."

"I ran into your grandfather." My voice went up three octaves as I tried to pretend everything was all right. "Guess he brought in Sherri to comfort him which—ew. I hope they decided the comforting should take place not two doors away from you."

"He's never slept with Sherri."

"You said—"

"Well, I was wrong. Grandpa wouldn't have...he never did anything with her, except convince her not to retire. There are rules against sleeping with your sister-in-law."

"You're grandmother wasn't a shaman."

"No, she wasn't." He bit his lip, but I already knew far too much. What was one more thing? "Apparently, she wasn't even his first wife."

Apparently you could keep secrets in the Cabal world. Pretty dark-haired girl with sad eyes and blood. Oh god. "She tried to swallow a gun and—it worked."

He stopped shrugging on the dress shirt he had picked out and actually condescended to look at me for the first time since I had entered. "He still thinks he should have known it was coming. I think he finds it more comforting to think his father had it done to protect the company than to think she just couldn't hack it and he didn't notice."

"Did your great-grandfather...?"

"Maybe. Grandpa doesn't know. He says the guy did, though. How is thinking of your dad as a monster comforting?" Bryce knew, like I did—that way it wasn't your fault for not noticing. "I guess you can't really blame him for wanting to think that way."

"Please tell me you didn't buy that—so what his wife blew her head off? Cry me a river. That doesn't give him the right to do...whatever it is he does to you."

There might have been blood on Thomas' hands, but he was trying to give absolution to his sons and to their sons. They would never have to take responsibility for their callousness, for their arrogance, for their selfish impulses that the family encouraged. Thomas thought it was a gift, making his family stronger. Thomas was an idiot. All it did was deny them any opportunity to grow up, to stop thinking they deserved to have everything handed to them because of their stupid last name.

Now that Bryce understood why Thomas had lost it at the thought of his grandson being with a witch whose father had taken a razor blade to his own wrists, he had forgiven Thomas without even blinking. So what if the old man had wanted to murder his unborn child? Bryce was fine with it. I wondered if it was even true; I would have lied, why wouldn't Thomas Nast?

"You're adorable when you try to be morally outraged."

"Shut up. I'm trying to...whatever, you don't care. Could please make sure your employees stop acting bipolar around me?"

"Who's been bothering you now?"

"Alba. Hollis. Plus, I'm sure Sean's going to call me a whore again. He can't seem to help himself." I sat myself down on the hospital bed. I was tired and it looked ridiculously comfortable. It was. Laying down and stretching out, I continued, "You really need to get him to stop. It makes me think that nobody loves me."

Keeping my eyes closed, I finished stretching out my back, cramped from the funny way I had fallen asleep, not wanting to see the pitying look in his face. It was poor word choice; nothing more. I had never expected anything from him; I wasn't dumb enough to start now.

But when I did open my eyes, Bryce wasn't scowling. He was just shaking his head, eyes fixed on me, studying me. Always looking at me, and not always displeased with what he saw despite what he said. He opened his mouth, once, twice and then just blurted it out:

"Come with me to New York."

I managed the intelligent response: "What?"

"Come to New York. Finish up the semester and when you're done come out east. I could talk to a few people about getting you a job somewhere where you can read all those musty books to your heart's content. And after the summer's over, if you wanted to stay, I'm sure I could get you into Columbia to finish up your degree. If they let me into Harvard, the Ivy League will take anyone."

What skill was it that let him say all of that like it was perfectly reasonable? Like it was the smartest thing I could do? Like it would be easy? "You're asking me to move across the country? Just so...to be with you."

"That would be the idea, yes." His lips curled upwards. "If you're seeing someone else from New York, it would help that too."

Not that I was terrified at how serious Bryce was being, but I was pretty damn terrified. He barely knew me, except to know I was an emotional disaster and the people I cared about ended up dead. But I don't think he cared about any of that.

"You don't think it would kill me?"

"It's not about dying, you said. I believe you; you're tougher than you look. I think you can handle it. Or you can pretend well enough that you'd convince anyone."

"You're grandfather would kill me."

"Only if you interfere with business."

That was the nice way of saying I was only ever going to be—and this was the absolute best case scenario—his mistress. He would probably make sure I had the best of everything and openly introduce me to his wife (I'd probably get along better with her than he would, because I could fake politeness and he wouldn't) and the rest of the world, but I would never officially count as much as she would.

It said something about me that I still found the idea slightly tempting. More than slightly tempting.

It was everything I had ever wanted. Financially, I would be so secure it would be obscene, with more money than I could count and no chance of it ever running out. There would be no soup kitchens in that future. Accessories and clothing that I currently couldn't afford to buy knockoffs of could be mine. But the financial security was less appealing than the other sort of security he was offering.

I would have a home. A beautiful home, a place to stay that would be all my own. And Bryce wouldn't change his mind and run away, if only because he was too damn stubborn to ever do that. He might try and drive me out, eventually, but he would never leave.

He would never leave me. Or the company. That was just how he was built.

Was it funny that my favorite thing about him was also the thing I hated most? Or was it just sad?

"Thank you. It's very kind—"

"I get it. Don't worry about it. Grant'll be disappointed, but he'll get over it."

"Grant?"

"He kept—I think he just wanted an excuse to watch out for you. I told him it was a dumb idea to ask; I thought you'd say yes. You usually chose the stupid option."

"I want to. Even if you think it's stupid."

"Of course you want to come. World at your tiny little feet."

"Not because of that, you idiot." He knew; but I wasn't afraid to say it like he was. "I want to go because of you. I just refuse to watch you be miserable for the rest of eternity. Believe it or not, I have finally had my fill of sharing the people I care about with the Cabals. It sucks and...I have to stop. But if I had agreed, it wouldn't have been because of the money." I couldn't help adding, "Though the money wouldn't have hurt."

He laughed and came over, silently asking me to fix the tie he couldn't force straight without a mirror. It was silk, I think, or something equally expensive and delicate against my fingers. I kept my eyes down as he spoke.

"Does it make me a terrible person that I'm pissed you chose now to do the smart thing?"

"Yes." When I looked up, I found that we were almost the same height, now that I was kneeling on the bed and he was standing in front of me. His eyes were amused, but tired, so tired, so I just blurted out: "You speak Spanish, right? You seemed to understand Leech when he spoke."

"Yeah. Fidelia taught me. Her English was never the greatest."

More information than was necessary sprang from his lips unbidden even though he had a lifetime to prepare him for not sharing. No wonder I was flattered. No wonder I couldn't help giving back. No wonder I said what I did.

"They speak Spanish in Argentina. And lots of other places, too—Spain, if you wanted to be near Europe, or the Dominican, if you wanted to be on an island. Mexico's probably too close, but—"

"Gillian..."

"You have the money; or I could pawn all that jewelry you gave me. Let's just go—someplace nice and warm where no one knows us. We can just start all over. I can teach English or something and you can, I don't know, play the guitar on street corners and it won't be nearly as nice as it is for you now, but at least you'd actually have a chance at being happy. We can always pretend we're brother and sister if you wanted and—"

"I hate to break this to you, Gillian, but outside Georgia, they don't approve of incest."

"It might be kind of fun, for a while." The corner of his mouth twitched, so I knew he found me funnier than he would admit to. "Whatever. We just need to get out, that's all. Get away from everything here. The weather's just a bonus. I...I could make you happy, I think. You wouldn't be so pissed with me all the time if you weren't scared it was true. And I'd try to do my best, for you. I know I screw up a lot so that's not exactly reassuring but—"

"You could," he agreed, his voice soft, like a caress. "But I don't think I could return the favor."

"I—I'd let you try." It was more than I had given anyone in a long time; there was something about his incessant demands that worked. I'd let him try—I think I'd even be rooting for him to succeed. "And maybe it wouldn't work out but maybe it would and...it really wouldn't matter anyway because we'd be away from this stupid world and...please?"

His lips found mine then, his mouth hard against mine, fingers in my hair, pulling me closer but not close enough, never close enough. It was a goodbye kiss; I didn't need him to explain that, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him tightly. He was warm as always—I promised myself I could cry after he left. That second I just concentrated on remembering the way his lips felt against mine. His fingers dug into my hip, like maybe if we could close the distance between us everything else would somehow miraculously work itself out. But we knew it wouldn't work—that's why we stayed locked together for so long. Because it was over now; over and done.

"I can't," he whispered when I finally pulled away.

"I know. But Bryce...if you ever quit, if...you know, call me."

"I love it when you order me around," he told me frankly, pushing my hair gently behind my ear. My cheeks were flaming, but I didn't drop my eyes even though I really couldn't handle holding his gaze. The best he had, given to me. It wasn't much, but I would take it.

"It's good for you."

"Sure. You take care of yourself, okay? If you ever need anything, please call. Preferably before you get your cute little neck broken. And..." He reached into his pocket and came up with a ring of keys. "Which one do you want?"

"I don't need a car."

"I know. But I need to give you one so just take one, okay? You want to pick by make? Color? Whatever you want?"

"Which one's the fastest?"

"The Veyron, but I'm not giving you that. I wouldn't give Sean that car, even if he begged."

Laughing, I took one of the keys he held out. It seemed to make him feel better, though he wasn't done giving out handouts. "And when Grandpa's writing you a cheque, don't be afraid to push him for more. He wouldn't have been so rude to you if he wasn't so damn scared of you."

"I don't need his money."

"Take it. UCLA's great and everything, but you'd do better in Greece or Israel or wherever it is that they actually speak the languages you keep trying to learn. You have a lousy ear, but immersion would work, even on you. Hell, you might even want to go to Germany."

"My German's not that great."

"So Germany would be good practice." Seeing my face, he dropped the forced enthusiasm. "Seriously, Gillian, I know it won't make up for anything. But it's all I can do, so...just...take it. Please?"

"It's okay, Bryce."

"Not really. Her name was Tabitha, if Grandpa proves difficult."

"Stop it. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." He forced himself to smile. "Don't worry. It's not about you. It's about me and making myself feel better."

It was scary how he knew how to get me to agree to things.

"Well, in that case...thank you, I guess. It's very sweet of you."

It made him laugh, the way it hadn't before. The word was growing on him, I guess. But he picked up the suit jacket in order to leave.

"Thanks, Gillian."

Then he left, like it was that simple. Maybe it was.

Thomas didn't make me browbeat him with the name of his long-dead first wife. He didn't let me say a word, really, just whipped out his cheque book and wrote a bunch of zeroes. A lot of zeroes.

"I hope we understand each other, Miss MacArthur."

I think he was saying sorry.

For three million dollars, I could shake hands with Thomas Nast.

Dana would forgive me.

* * *

I made my way back to Leech's room, hoping I'd find Savannah on the way. Not that I didn't want to see Leech, I just wasn't sure I could handle a sympathetic listener right at the moment.

Hollis was standing outside the door, scowling; Claire was still inside. I hoped Bryce had said his goodbye to Leech before I found him, because it didn't look like he would be able to now. Claire only came out of the room as I reached the end of the hall.

She was a very pretty woman, if a little smaller than I had pictured her. She was still a lot taller than me, but probably a lot shorter than Leech. She looked like the sort of woman you would find in that pristine kitchen in Leech's house, without a smudge of flour on her face. Her posture was almost as good as mine, as she responded to Hollis with an imperious air. Her eyes didn't once glance at back at the room she had just left.

Why had she come? She knew you couldn't go up against a Cabal and win, even if she didn't know what a Cabal was. They hadn't broken her yet, exactly, but everything would have been a little bit easier if she hadn't met him. It had been unnecessarily cruel to drag her back. I didn't blame Hollis for looking out for his own. But I didn't like it either.

She had been his wife and she had gotten far less than I had. It didn't make me feel better, exactly, but it stopped me from feeling worse.

There was no way Leech would be up for company at the moment, though that didn't stop Hollis from going back into the room. Never mind Leech, I didn't want company right now. I had to gather up whatever was left, remind myself I had done the right thing (by what absurd Paige Cortez standard?) in refusing to move to New York for some jerk I had just met, and just mourn in private. Hiding out in my room might have been juvenile, but it was the only thing I could think of.

Paige and Lucas had left a message, promising to come back as soon as they could to check on me. I don't know why that set me off, but it did, and I found myself crying like a child.

When I heard the door open, I hurriedly to dry my eyes as Savannah came in carrying a lunch tray. The piece of cake looked bigger than my head. I tried to force out a grin, but I'm not sure I managed before she dropped the tray on the bed.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted to eat, so I raided Thomas's fridge and grabbed the good stuff. And the whipped cream almost cost me my life so don't you dare say you're not hungry."

"I wasn't going to."

With a sigh, she flopped down beside me. "You look like crap."

"Thanks, Savannah."

"I brought you ice cream, too. I figured since we've girl talked already, eating our feelings can't be far behind."

"There's no feelings to eat," I promised. "Even if there were—which there aren't—mindless eating wouldn't make me feel better. It would just make me feel fat."

"You so need help for that. I'm glad you're taking this so well," Savannah said. "Personally, I punched Bryce after the bodyguard said he was trying to sneak off."

"Smart."

"He didn't hit me back though, this time. Just made fun of my form. He promised to take me to his gym when I came to visit—he's going to teach me how to box. Cool, right?"

"Just what you need, more knowledge on how to destroy people."

"Yup."

Keeping my eyes on the food she had brought me I tried to casually ask, "Are you going to visit?"

"When Sean flies out, next time. Unless you don't want me to. Hoes before bros, and all that."

"That's not how it goes."

Opening up the box of chocolates, Savannah shrugged. "It's close enough. Seriously, Gillian, say the word and I will shun Bryce the way he shunned me the first twenty years of my life. I wouldn't care."

"Sean would."

"He'd get over himself. Evil half-brother versus you? There's no contest. I'd feel bad telling Kris, sure, but not enough to change my mind."

Now the tears were coming for a very different reason.

"Thanks."

Savannah rolled her eyes at me as she flipped through the channels. She was carefully watching the high-definition cartoons; it was one thing to state facts, another to create a scene. Normally, I knew this—I guess dying had really messed me up.

"You should go to New York. You'd be awesome, getting to punch things."

"I know, right?"

"Besides...the three million dollars Thomas just gave me didn't cover not passing messages through you."

Would it make me pathetic? So what if it did? He needed a friend, I needed a friend and it was nice having someone to talk to who understood. Bryce wouldn't mind—he was good at sneaking around behind the company's back.

But mentioning the money had Savannah choking on the strawberry she had in her mouth. I ended up pounding on her back, trying to help. When she stopped almost dying, she burst out laughing: "Three million? Are you serious?"

"Want to see it?"

"Shit. No. What are you going to do with it?"

"No clue. Got any ideas?"

She had a few. One in particular I found horribly amusing. It needed a few tweaks, of course, and Bryce would have to help, but it would be sort of perfect. I smiled and grabbed the chocolate cake.

"You're pretty awesome, you know," I said as I dug into the cake.

"Duh."

She reached over with her fork and we began fighting over the chocolate—just because I loved her like a sister, didn't mean I was going to let her get the bigger piece.


	47. Chapter 46

Epilogue

* * *

The whole office heard Thomas Nast thundering down the hallway, though few peered out from behind their heavily protected doors to see the sight in person. Most of the world's most dangerous supernaturals preferred to be surprised, if Thomas was indeed coming to see them. Besides, they would have wasted too much time if they reacted every time Thomas went on the warpath.

That's why Albarita Fermi was still at her desk when the CEO of Nast Corporation burst through her door. She barely even raised an eyebrow at the way he was huffing and puffing, nor at the way he slammed the door shut behind him.

"Kendrick just asked me if I was interested in taking a meeting when I'm in Berlin next week!"

Internally, Alba sighed. Externally, she put on an expression of bored curiosity. Kendrick was Hollis' problem, not hers. Thomas could go yell at the necromancer about his moronic subordinates, but she shouldn't be bothered.

"Why is that a problem?"

"How did she find out about the trip?" Thomas was too humiliated by the whole affair to have told many people.

"You're the CEO, Mr Nast. Everyone knows where you're going, even when they don't want to. If you need Kendrick to keep her mouth shut, you should talk to Mr Leech."

"His son is having _another _a bad week." A cold note entered Thomas's voice. "It's the beginning of the end. We might as well start bringing the boy in before he dies."

"Hollis won't agree to that."

Thomas snorted. He'd known Leech for fifty years. There wasn't much the man wouldn't do for the hint of a promotion; besides, the reality was the boy was deterorating rapidly whether he was useful or not. They might as well make use of him.

"I would suggest the idea to him personally, but he hasn't been around the office long enough for me to broach the subject."

"Mr Nast," Alba sighed, "He has done remarkable work keeping the warehouse secure. Give him a few more months before you give him an ultimatum."

There was something about the expression on Thomas's face that made Alba uneasy, though she couldn't put her finger on what. It didn't matter. She was used to relying on her instincts. Thomas didn't see Hollis being a problem in the near future; that would not be good for the necromancer.

"If he can't keep his blasted department from bothering me, than his work is nowhere near remarkable!" With some difficultly, Thomas calmed down to remember the reason he had marched to Alba's office in the first place. He got angry all over again. "How come everyone in this organization knows I'm going to Berlin?"

"I told you we needed a gag order if you wanted to keep this quiet."

"You also said a gag order would make it seem more important than it was."

Because time was money, even if humouring Thomas was practically in her contract, Alba got to the point: "It would. I don't understand why you don't want people knowing, Thomas. Donating money to a educational institute is common enough. Yes, it's a little suspicious that Joey died almost ten years ago and you're only creating a memorial now and it's especially suspicious that you're also naming the library after another of Edward's victims, but it's explainable. Edward was our mistake. And you had family from the city."

"My great-grandfather."

Had the girl known that too? Or had she simply picked the capital and gotten lucky?

"Exactly. No one but me knows that, coincidentally, your grandson's ex-girlfriend is currently attending classes there. When they bring up your trip, they don't realize they are also bringing her up."

If they did, Alba was sure people would have started shutting up about the company's latest charitable donation. When Thomas got angry, everyone's lives got more difficult.

"What the hell was she thinking?" he demanded, yet again. "The MacArthur-Nast Library? Where does she get off?"

"She couldn't very well change her sister's name, now could she? What with the girl being dead and all? Would you rather she had just left it the 'Dana MacArthur Library'? Try explaining that to the board. They would have found you quite uncharacteristically generous."

He just kept growling and Alba felt the last of her patience evaporate. "Are you mad she put the two names together? Or just that MacArthur comes before Nast? We can't very well change the alphabet to spite her."

"Why not?"

And then the old man cracked a smile. "Alba, I think I'm getting old. When I was younger I would have killed her for this sort of insolence. She doesn't get to give my money away and say it's from me without a damn good reason."

"She didn't want your money, Thomas. You should have received that message loud and clear because she just spent $2.5 million advertising that fact."

"And what did she want?"

"I'm sure your grandson could tell you. I'd ask him myself, but he's made it very clear he doesn't want to talk to me about her."

Bryce had always known her interest in his 'friends' had been more than maternal, but it was only now that he had decided he resented her obversations. Or maybe he just didn't want to discuss the witch, which worried Alba more than she wanted to admit. What was it about the witch that made her different from the others?

It was Thomas' fault. If he had never noticed the girl, Bryce wouldn't have given her a second thought.

"He's been busy lately."

Though not with company business, Thomas was sure. It took a lot to donate all that money, especially if you were going to do it in someone else's name. There was no way the witch could have arranged her little joke without help. And Bryce had been far too amused when Thomas had tried probing how much he knew about the new MacArthur-Nast Library in Berlin.

"Busy convincing Josef to go along with the witch's harebrained scheme?"

"Joey was his son." The memorial might have been created by a witch, it might link Joey's memory with a dead, worthless witch, but Joey's memory would endure forever and that was enough. The armband on Thomas' suit felt heavy. "It would have been too easy for Bryce to convince him."

Second sons always did share an understanding; Josef was still looking for small ways to punish his father for refusing to hand over the company.

"Then you should yell at the two of them and let poor Sydney do her job. Take the meeting. Go the ceremony in Berlin, accept their thanks for your generosity and let it go. The girl is in Europe, Thomas. If they are still in touch, they're hiding it even from me. Let it go. She's not a threat."

It wasn't the witch he was worried about, though Thomas thought Alba a bit foolish. If Bryce was still taking talking to his grandfather, he was still in touch with the witch—somehow. Ultimatums didn't work on the boy; they never had. Thomas was very aware of the fact that his inability to get the witch alone to buy her off behind the boy's back would have destroyed the company when Bryce decided to punish _everthing _for Thomas' decision if Alba hadn't come through.

The witch wasn't the problem; Bryce was. There was nothing remarkable about the girl, but out of the billions of the women on the planet, Bryce had paid attention to that one. It was easy enough to see why. Very unfortunate, too.

It wasn't just because she was a witch, and therefore fundamentally inappropriate. Kristof had appreciated the lower race, but while Bryce had tried to follow his father's career he was abysmal at it. If he had set out to find a witch, he wouldn't have been able to do it.

It was ironic that Kristof's witch was the only woman Thomas had seen with his various relations that had been competent enough to survive as a knowing partner of a Nast CEO. Too bad her extraciricular activities would have gotten her killed and she was the type who wouldn't give them up. Thomas had no choice but to get rid of her. If she had been less independent, maybe Kristof wouldn't have spent the last fifteen years of his life silently resenting his position. But she looked Thomas in the eye and refused to back down and he had known it would get her killed. Eve wasn't like Bryce; she handled ultimatums gracefully. She had done the right thing and left.

Gillian MacArthur was nowhere near as impressive as Eve Levine. She was not as powerful; she didn't have any reputation in the supernatural community, except as a friend of Eve's spawn. Her history proved she was nowhere near as mentally strong as she needed to be (her father's fate alone would have ruled her out, though the girl herself presented a convincing case for her own ineligibility). She wasn't even that pretty. A nice smile, perhaps, but she was too muscular for a woman, and too short for a Nast. And yet...it had taken Thomas only a few minutes to understand what his grandson saw in her, and even less time to understand the unfortunate implications of it all.

She laughed.

Surrounded by sorcerers she had been rightfully scared, her eyes wide, her stance unsure, even if she managed to hide it better than most. When Bryce said something particularly shocking, she had glanced at Thomas every time, waiting for a blow that never fell. She was scared—but she laughed just the same. She leaned over and smirked and giggled and kept right on, even though she was scared. It was so senseless, so heedless, so damn stupid, that it almost shocked Thomas into admiring her for it.

It had been a long time since he had seen behaviour like that. Not since Bryce had been a teenager, determined to do the exact opposite of whatever he was told, not because he didn't know better, but simply because he didn't stop to think, just reacted, all poorly honed instinct and a strange desire to be amused no matter what the cost. The witch was merely a reflection of the boy's old behaviour and that he was drawn to it, still, after all of Thomas's attempts to change him, meant that Thomas had been right all those years ago.

If Bryce stayed, it would kill him.

He wasn't cut out for this world, as Thomas had explained to Kristof, who already suspected but wasn't sure, Berkley brochure in one hand. He was too thoughtless, too prone to act immediately, too heedless of the danger he was getting himself into. The longer he stayed the more opportunities he had to do something stupid. Thomas had thought Kristof's death had cured the boy, but he had been wrong. The witch proved that. Bryce wasn't better, he was just better at hiding. He might not appear out of control anymore, his behaviour may have seemed the result of cold calculation, but one day someone would tell him to go right and he would go left simply out of spite—no thought, no consideration, just a mindless desire to ignore the rule—and then the boy would be dead.

And Thomas would have allowed that to happen by forcing him to stay.

But what else was there to do? Sean was becoming more difficult to manage as the years past. While it was never safe to trust Bryce to handle a situation entirely, Thomas was sure the company could trust him to come through for Sean. As long as the boy didn't get himself killed first.

"You tell Kendrick," Thomas ordered. "I have a business meeting now."

Alba agreed and got back to work as Thomas headed out. He should have left an hour ago, but good help was hard to find these days. Very hard to find. At least the delay was merely an annoyance and not a betrayal. Thomas had enough of betrayal for this year.

Sherri was the one who found him when it was time; he didn't trust anyone else in the office with the news. "Hollis just called to say he was waiting downstairs."

Her worry was etched all over her face. She had always been the best secretary he had ever had—she always knew what he was up to, even when he didn't tell her. It was with a secret smile that he remembered his grandson's implications about this remarkably competent woman. She was like a machine, and not the type that eventually reached enlightenment.

"It will be all right," he promised, as he often did, though she should have known not to believe him by now.

"Thank you. Remember, you have to call Sean tonight. His birthday is coming up soon and you have to tell me what to get him."

"Can't we get him the same thing I got him last year?"

"You bought him his gift last year," which was her fault for being too busy to help, "and it was cruel, even for you. Besides, my salary is not high enough to justify buying those _magazines_."

As if Sean did anything besides look at the female forms in disgust before recycling them.

"I'll call him. Was there anything else you needed to tell me about the children?"

A lie, but a necessary one; even Sherri couldn't know what he was doing tonight. It was one thing to bend the rules (it wasn't forbidden to talk to the dead, just frowned upon) but another to break them. For her own good, she couldn't be told what he was up to. He told her he was going to see her sister instead.

"No. I told you everything before. She won't be happy to see you."

"She never is." Tabby hadn't spoken to him for years after he had married Edith—you're not even trying to be happy, she had told him before disappearing. It had been years before she had agreed to speak to him again. Whenever he did something truly heinous, she refused to speak to him for a while. But she came back. She always came back. She was too kind not to, the little bit of goodness he somehow had been lucky enough to touch, once upon a time.

"Goodnight, Sherri."

"Goodnight, Tom."

At least Hollis had the decency to not ask any questions as Thomas sat in his car. The necromancer and sorcerer had never really gotten along—not with each other or with anyone else. But Hollis was the only one Thomas ever considered for this plan. Not only because the man had his talents with the dead, but for other, more personal reasons. Thomas didn't know anyone who would like to go back the way he did, nobody but Hollis.

Hollis wanted to go back just as badly, to fix what had gone wrong, but Hollis wouldn't, just like Thomas wouldn't. It had been their fault; they were brave enough to admit that. They would suffer the consequences of their actions, no matter how painful they were. And they would clean up the supernatural mess.

The Eisenbergs—or some version of them, at any rate—might still be at large. There was nothing he could do about that, but Thomas could handle the Time Tear. The witch said it had been closed, but Thomas hadn't lasted as long as he had by taken someone's word on the subject. Hollis had been sent to the site for confirmation. His report, to Thomas and only Thomas, stated that though the witches had closed the Time Tear, it was still a problem. There was a solution, one that had take Hollis many months to find: remove it from existence. S

o that's what Thomas and Hollis were going to do.

A necromancer and a sorcerer. It was always a dangerous combination and Thomas berated himself yet again for not realizing it in the Eisenbergs. But in his defence, they really were model employees. One simply had to overlook their rather obsessive fondness for their tiny brat. And Thomas would—once Hollis had ensured said brat was never born.

The security around the warehouse let Thomas and Hollis in after a long while. Normally, Thomas would have been upset at the delay, but if that sort of thoroughness kept the Eisenbergs from returning to the Time Tear than it was necessary. The two men did not speak as they exited the car and began wandering through the storage containers to the spot that Martin had carefully (and unconsciously) described to his father. It looked unremarkable to Thomas, but Hollis nodded. That was good enough.

Hollis opened the briefcase he carried with him and began removing the tools they would need. Thomas merely hovered over him, supervising and conserving his strength. It was the sorcerer's magic that was needed in these sorts of situations, though the necromancers created excellent conduits. Since neither was exactly sure what sort of spell would be required to reopen the Time Tear, Thomas felt justified in not wasting precious energy.

"Done," Hollis announced eventually. The necromancer rose and Thomas expected a brief reiteration of the steps they planned to execute. That wasn't what Hollis said.

"Sir, if I may, there is one other issue that we should discuss before we continue."

"What is it, Leech?"

"One of us could emerge on the other side with no memory of our goals. I want to make sure we have agreed on what those are before we continue."

"Don't," Thomas warned Hollis. "We aren't here to change the past. We are here to stop the Eisenberg's from trying to change it."

The Cabals didn't have many rules, but Thomas had enough for any organization. As badly as he wanted to go back and fix things (smile, when she told you she was with child, not frown, certainly not worry out loud that it could get you both killed, and never scowl, like it was somehow her fault) he wouldn't. It was his mess; he had learned to live with it.

Besides, there was no way to change the past responsibly. Who knew what he might accidentally undo? They couldn't risk it.

"I simply wanted to know where you wanted to begin from."

It was a lie—Thomas liked employees who couldn't convincingly lie to him.

"From the inception of the child." He would have tried a smaller window, but he wasn't sure he could stop the Eisenbergs unless they were childless. Better to err on the side of caution.

Hollis shifted, ever so slightly. "Sir, with permission, I would also like to request that you attempt to keep my son's condition from deteriorate to his present state."

"Stop him from contacting Fidelia?" Thomas found himself a little surprised. He didn't know Hollis could be sentimental. The necromancer nodded and Thomas found himself agreeing. It wouldn't be too hard to make sure Martin was unable to break that deal with Lucifer; the situation might not even arise at all if they dealt with the Eisenbergs properly. "Fine."

"Is there something you would like me to do, sir, if you don't remember our mission?"

Of course not, Thomas was supposed to snap, but he couldn't. There were many things in his past that he found himself _uncomfortable_ with, some of the times. This was not the situation to rectify them, though he would enjoy the unintended consequences of his actions tonight. If they succeeded in going back, his relationship with Kristof's sons would not be quite so frayed. There would be hope for the company still.

When they succeeded, they would be thrown back before Mariah had unluckily conceived. Sean would still be dutifully sitting in his office down the hall—still with that unfortunate practice of his, but exercising a little more discretion. That was all Thomas asked, for the most part, to not to have to observe the abomination. Bryce would still be difficult and hard to manage, but there would be no pesky witches to distract him.

No witches at all.

No tiny blonde woman who managed to oh-so-politely ruin Thomas's month (he couldn't stop feeling like she had somehow won something, though he wasn't sure what), and especially no illegitimate sister that he was cheerfully trying to get Thomas to hire. It may have been revenge for the other witch, but Thomas was starting to suspect it might have been because it was what the boy thought Kristof wanted. And if Sean and Bryce both believed Kristof would have wanted the girl looked after...

If Kristof had cared for the girl that much, he should have lived long enough to explain her existence to his father. It was that simple.

Should he tell Hollis to keep the witches away? It was tempting. Sean might toe the company line more, if it wasn't for the Eve's child. Thomas would also have the joy of not having to deal with them. Ever. But as much joy as it would have brought him, Thomas knew better than that.

With a snarl, the CEO of the Nast Cabal forced himself to say: "No, Mr Leech. I will not change the past. If the future is meant to unfold as it has, then we will just have to let it."

He would just hope the witches didn't cross paths with him. With a nod, the necromancer began the ritual.

And they undid history.

The End


End file.
